I Hold On
by therewithasmile
Summary: Before the start of something that would've lasted a lifetime, uncontrollable circumstances forced them apart. Eight years later, Maka moves back to Death City and finds Soul once more. He, like her, has moved on, yet she's falling in love with him all the same, wrapped up in a bittersweet relationship that will affect the rest of her life. / Resbang 2014 - Ao Haru Ride inspired.
1. prologue

_**A/N:** Hello! This is my first shot as Resbang, and this particular piece was written for the theme 'Rise of the Ashes'. I thought what not better way to write a vanilla, college AU? So this fic is my interpretation of the theme, a story about a second love. This is heavily based off Ao Haru Ride, though it diverges later on. Fans of the manga will recognize some scenes translated into SoMa. _

_My lovely artists are Sophie (datkaraperson) and Rebecca (Showknight). You can find their art linked from my profile, as well as on Tumblr. In addition, I must thank the most wonderful betas in the world - I'll add acknowledgements at the end. There will be an omake put up in mid January, as well as extended author notes on tumblr._

_ And without further ado, I present to you my first Resbang fic._

**_Trigger warnings: _**_Alcohol consumption / implied smut / divorce scenes__  
_

* * *

**I hold _on -_**

**[...]**

She closed her eyes.

* * *

She was in middle school. Twelve. Simpler times and happier days, in a way. Well, she contemplated, maybe not. In her youth, there wasn't as much to think about, no thoughts of money, stress, family troubles. But in its place were other worries – namely, social anxieties born of social pressures.

"_Pigtails!_" was the first one.

"_Fat ankles!_" was the next.

"_Tiny tits!"_ was the last, a call so loud that the chattering hallway fell silent. It was as if everyone waited in collective, baited breath. As she took one long inhale through her nose and out through her mouth, she tried to calm the angry tears that threatened to well in her eyes _again, _to stop the slew of expletives that threatened on the tip of her tongue. She was an honour's student. She had dignity.

But the boy's damned relentless cackles pissed her off the _most_, a friction that grated on her unlike anything else had ever. Then again, she had grown up with the monkey of a boy, so she should have been more or less used to it. The cause only seemed to slip further from her hands as with every passing year, more creative and _colourful_ insults would fly from the twat and she would be left wondering why she even bothered.

She whirled around on the balls of her feet, stopping dead center and facing his obnoxious blue hair. "Call me all the names you want, _Blackstar_, but I'm never stooping to your level." She narrowed her eyes as the boy – shorter than her, three times as loud – drew himself to his full (laughable) height and met her own piercing gaze. "And when _exactly_," she paused for dramatic effect, keeping her voice crisp and scathing, "did you come up with that? I didn't know you had the capacity to come up with the last one."

If Blackstar was offended his face didn't show it, though she couldn't help but entertain the thought that he just didn't quite grasp her own insult. Just as she was congratulating herself on her own genius, the blue-haired buffoon took a step back and another boy took his place.

Soul Evans – he'd moved to their school recently, yet, quick as a flash, had stuck to the other hair-colour freak as if they were opposite polarities. When he'd first walked into the class she was immediately intrigued, for she could see in his sharp red gaze that he was intelligent and good at judging people. She had hoped that, in an school that already had it against her, he might understand her plight.

She had so many questions for him. Was his hair naturally white? Was his skin always tanned? Why were his teeth so sharp?

And yet, as soon as the bell had rung on that fateful day, Blackstar had gotten to him, and she never had the opportunity to ask those questions.

Not that she cared anymore, though, as she shot a glare at the newcomer. "Actually, that one was my idea," he sneered, his voice dripping with pride. She seriously had no idea how she had ever thought he could be anything half decent – for now her opinions of him were so sour that he had almost reached the same level as Blackstar, perhaps worse. Only, in that first day, she could see the loneliness in his eyes, the way his head was held too high and the way his stance was too stiff.

He was still like that, she supposed.

But her sympathy wasn't saved for assholes.

So she rolled her eyes and whirled around. "I have nothing to say to you, Evans."

And when she walked away, there was heat when his eyes followed her, still prickling even when she heard Blackstar nudging his asshole-in-crime.

She wouldn't soon forget the feeling of his gaze.

* * *

She found solace in the library, mostly because it was always empty– everyone was too busy going out with friends or rushing home. Those activities weren't anything she was very partial to, and the silence of the library was a nice contrast to the cacophony of the halls. Settling into a chair and leaning her elbows against the wooden desk, she pulled out a book and began to read.

She didn't know how much time had passed. She could get lost in her books forever, but she heard a somewhat nearby chair scoot back before the rather audible sound of someone sitting in it quite deliberately She turned the page, clicking her tongue, trying to refocus her mind back into the sleepy state of reading.

But then she felt the familiar prickle against her skin, along the back of her neck, like a spark trying to ignite a fire. It left trails of warmth crawling up her spine. It, too, was soon unbearable and just as she was getting ready to slam her book down with exasperation, there was the regrettably familiar drawl of his voice.

"So, the nerd also reads… _for fun._"

"I'm _so _privileged, to think you would take your time out of your _clearly _busy day to talk to little old me," she muttered reflexively, more to herself than to him, but she heard his low whistle and she tried once more to bury herself in the comforting black etchings of letters.

She could _hear _the smirk set on his lips, the way his tongue tasted each word before they came out of his mouth. "Feisty _and _sarcastic?"

The heat had now spread to her cheeks, pricking like little needles, enticing her temper to flare once more.

She slammed her book down, watching the boy flinch ever-so-slightly as she hissed, "Look, if you're this desperate for attention, at least cry to someone who _cares_, okay?"

Green stared into red.

For once, he didn't seem smug. More surprised, if not a little offended, but definitely shocked rather than… anything else she was expecting, really. His eyes were wide – and in them was that stupid _loneliness _that somehow, irrationally, called to her – but she stalked off, leaving Soul Evans in the library, alone.

* * *

The second time he showed up in the library, whatever patience she had been slowly regaining throughout the day was all but thrown out the window. When he sat down she promptly stood _up_, shoved her chair back into the desk with unnecessary force, and moved herself three tables down.

When he rose and took a step towards her, she kicked the adjacent chair in defiance.

Familiar prickles set into her skin once more, and there was the annoyance that she felt when she was around _any _boy, really, though he was... different. But when she dwelled on the thought, she also saw his wolfish grin. Whatever was brewing in her mind was discarded as she glared back and immediately blocked his vision with the closest thing she could find.

"Really, a dictionary?"

"Shut up," she muttered, her voice coming out higher than she would've liked, and she could've sworn she heard a chuckle before she whacked him with it.

* * *

"That _hurt_, Albarn, what if you gave me a concussion-"

"_Stop following me_," she hissed back violently, the revelation that even hitting _Soul Evans _with a god damn _book _wouldn't make him leave her alone; he'd been following her for the past ten minutes, his voice highly annoying in her ears.

Why, why, of all people, _why_ _her_? She didn't ask for his attention, didn't want to feel sympathy for him, didn't want to feel this strange anticipation that made her heart race.

She stopped suddenly, almost causing him to bump into her.

"Why are you even following m -" she started, but her voice was cut off by a loud obnoxious war cry as out of nowhere a flash of blue hair clouded her vision. As the buffoon all but bowled over the white-haired boy, she couldn't help but to smirk as the two began to bicker. But then all the play left the shorter kid's body as he turned to her.

"Yo, dude, why you following bookworm?"

She seethed.

Soul shrugged.

"I 'unno dude, she just hit me with a book _again_-"

"- I did not _just _hit you with a book!" She couldn't help but to blurt out, "are you going to forget that you _keep bothering me-_"

" – and now she's not even gonna apologize –"

Mortification shot through her gut. The entirety of the hallway fell silent once more. That stupid feeling of inadequacy – of not being good enough, of not being able to stop her own fights (let alone others), of being the only one who seemed like they cared about their future – bubbled up and threatened tears in the back of her eyes. She swallowed, feeling that watery lump in her throat, her hands numb but her neck and cheeks blazing. "I – I'm sorry," she mumbled, or more choked, as the words tumbled clumsily from her mouth. Whilst Blackstar didn't seem to hear, she saw the other boy stiffen. Trying to blink back the moisture gathering in her eyes, she lifted her head slowly.

They locked eyes once more.

And just the shock of eyes so red – though she was too _drained _to even attempt to read his expression – was enough to send her over the edge. She swallowed thickly, trying not to allow her emotions cloud her judgment, and her instincts screamed at her to run.

So run she did, back to the library, back to her solace, her sanctuary, and as she let the door swing shut behind her, she wiped the angry tears from her eyes. She slumped against the wall, the feeling of the cold concrete soothing against her heated and flustered body.

She didn't know how long she sat there, but when her vision refocused she could make out his red pants.

"What do _you _want?" she muttered. Her voice had long since recovered from whatever that was earlier, strong and defiant once more.

He dropped, crouching, balancing delicately on his haunches as he peered around the bangs that had fallen into her eyes. It was somehow touching, almost fragile, but as soon as their eyes met, it was fire.

"I went too far this time."

"You did," she responded stiffly. Soul chuckled, but his eyes – his brilliant red eyes – were still lonely, she realized, something she hadn't quite yet placed and had chosen to forget about.

But that was something she did; she chose to forget certain things.

Like the way he had first glanced at her, before anyone else, as he sat down on the chair a few tables away from her. Or the times he had walked past her, his hand brushing against the small of her back, before he'd turn around and throw some kind of insult at her. Perhaps he had been sending signals that she just didn't care to acknowledge – a hereditary trait, she assumed as she sighed. "You just brought up something I'd rather forget," she murmured.

She winced at the unconscious show of vulnerability. Knowing him, he would take this opportunity to pick her apart.

But maybe it was because he was feeling sentimental after already hurting her. Her, who after all, had endured months of relentless teasing _before _he transferred into the school. Maybe it was the library – her sanctuary - that was guarding and protecting her from being harmed.

Or maybe it was the atmosphere; they were so alive in their solitude that every time he shifted – when his hair moved, his lips twitched – she could feel her body responding, as naturally as breathing, a simple cause and effect.

But his expression softened – ever so slightly, but it softened – as he stretched and stood up. "I know the feeling," he whispered, his words so quiet they were almost lost to her. She followed his lead and stood, questions suddenly burning on her tongue, but before she could even begin, he turned around and – for the first time – left _her _behind.

Loneliness burned in her stomach.

She was certain he felt it, too.

* * *

The next few days passed without incident, as he seemingly had no inclination towards acknowledging what had transpired between them.

Though his eye would catch hers.

And when he and buffoon-boy would gang up on her, his words felt half-hearted.

They certainly deflected off her that way.

But as she sat at her desk, opening her lunch, she heard the chair across from her scoot back.

Déjà vu crossed her mind but she ignored it, only taking apart her meal. His drawl was unmistakable, though, and his chair squeaked as he leaned forward. "Gonna ignore me again?"

"Hello, Evans," she muttered, breaking apart her chopsticks.

"Your lunch doesn't look very appetizing."

"That's because I made it myself," she shot back, yet somehow she didn't feel nearly as offended as her tone might've implied. Whatever hostility she felt was overshadowed by the weird sparks dancing along her spine, along with a bit of melancholy. He pulled out a sandwich, in any case, taking a bite of it and chewing slowly. She rolled her eyes and picked up a small sausage between her chopsticks. "Why," she gestured to the bread in his hand, "you make that?"

He paused mid-chew and she could tell he was thinking hard about the response – which was a little ridiculous, she thought, as it was a simple question – but he swallowed and shrugged. "In a sense. But I don't know many people who make their own lunches."

"I would buy, but Mama told Papa to stop giving me money whenever I ask," she responded deftly as she placed the meat on top of the rice box and began instead to roll one grain around. "And, well, Mama leaves right away so…" she trailed off. At the silence, she took the opportunity to stick the sausage in her mouth.

He opened his mouth to say something, but yet again, he was cut off as the door slammed open. "Yo _Soul_, me, Liz, and Tsubaki are going to the store. Wanna come?"

The white-haired boy paused, glancing down at his sandwich. _Just go already, _she thought aggressively, but when his eyes flashed to hers, they maintained contact for more than a few seconds before they softened apologetically. "Ya."

He lowered his voice and leaned in. As he did, she could make out hints of his collar bone, the faint aroma of his neck, and she couldn't help but blush, the prickles on her neck more poignant than before. "Wanna come?" he asked, his breath smelled like jam, she noted, though somehow also a little minty.

But she blinked as the blue-haired buffoon stomped his legs once more. "_DUDE,_" he said louder, smacking the wall in his impatience. So she shook her head instead; he shrugged and pushed the chair back where he found it. He gave her a small upturn of his lips before he whisked away as well.

She sat there, picking at her rice. Maybe she did want to go. A little. She felt a bit of jealousy too – if not, maybe admiration – for the boy whose eyes looked like hers. He was at least able to function, act social, slide a mask on to hide his pain.

She took another bite.

Back to the library it was, then.

* * *

She didn't know why he kept showing up at in her _sanctuary_. It wasn't even that he was _coming_, it was the fact that he'd appear when _she_ would. Granted, she always visited the Library on Tuesday afternoons – for that was when Papa got off work early, and Fridays – when her Mama would have the day off. And soon she, unwillingly, found herself in his company – sometimes he'd ask her a few questions, but otherwise he'd be silent.

Their fingers would brush, sometimes their gazes would catch, but they'd always look away: she'd play with the corner of her page, he'd rub the back of his neck.

She even forgot that she had seen him as an asshole.

It was a long time ago, it seemed.

This particular Friday was unlike the others, the difference being that it was the Friday before their Christmas break. As they sat, she could feel him buzzing – rather impatient, for once, and as she rubbed the corner of her book silently, his voice interrupted her mid page-flip.

"So, the break is coming soon."

"It is," she replied patiently.

He twiddled his thumbs.

"You uh… wanna, meet up some time?"

She closed her book.

He swallowed, desperately trying to maintain his cool, but the panic danced in his red eyes. "Ah, I mean, we could meet up with Kim -" as she felt a bit of distaste bubble at the thought of the blonde, he quickly amended, "- or Liz, you know, just to hang out – get you out of the house."

The last few words hung like a dark cloud on a sunny day.

She smiled. This boy, this boy whose eyes seemed to reflect her very own soul, _knew_. Or maybe he didn't, but she knew they had a connection, whether it was the friction they felt when they were at home, or the pretenses they kept while they were in class. Here, it was like there were no barriers. Their private sanctuary – though maybe he preferred a burger joint, as she often saw him eat one during lunch – and she could feel his sudden youthful eagerness as he awaited her response.

"I'd like that," she murmured, and she almost missed the complete _elation _in his eyes.

Almost.

* * *

But when the date they had decided on rolled around the corner, she wasn't waiting for him at the bridge, under the clock tower, like she'd promised.

She was in a car, watching the lights blur by, the song on the radio nothing but white noise as she leaned against the window, trying to stem the tears that were rolling down her cheeks.

"Maka, honey, we agreed to this." Her mother's voice was gentle, bracing, but cold to her ears.

She couldn't find the strength in her to continue the fight that she had, at first, been excluded from, but then forced into. She couldn't find her voice that she had yelled hoarse during the past three days. She couldn't even hiccup, for when she almost did she felt a throbbing in her throat, a sharp reminder of the escalating argument that had surmounted in the signing of papers and the slamming of doors.

It was raining outside, she noted.

Was it raining back in Death City?

She rubbed her eyes again, ignoring the rhythmic rattles of suitcases in the trunk. She wanted to tell herself she was smart – she was strong. She knew rationally she wasn't leaving much behind. After all, what had her life been like up until now? Studying, studying, studying. Ignoring the yelling. Ignoring the tears. Ignoring the catcalls. Staying longer and longer in the library, shut away from the world and away from her reality.

But there was a spark – a boy. One who'd rubbed her the wrong way at first, but, like the scrapping of flint, managed to ignite her heart. Soul. Soul Evans - whose bright red eyes breathed life into her, whose presence would keep her company in the library. Soul - who would send tingles shivering up her spine when their eyes caught, when he smiled, when his fingers brushed against hers – his twitching as if itching to hold her own.

She liked him.

She liked him.

_She liked him_.

But they never _were_ anything. Nothing ever happened between them. Maybe he wasn't even waiting for her at that bridge, checking his watch, growing more worried with every passing second.

Her shoulders shook, her sobs voiceless as she felt them wrack her body again and again.

It was going to be okay - she would cry today, tomorrow, for the next week, even.

But her tears would dry.

And, eventually, it would be sunny again.

* * *

And it was sunny, back in Death City.

Maka Albarn, twenty years old, opened her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

She dragged her suitcase behind her, the rhythmic rattles a reminder that this was all _real_. She was back - back to her childhood roots, the very city in which she was born and raised. There was a creeping sense of comforting familiarity as she roamed the cobblestone side-streets, passing cafes and boutiques - some of which were new, but the rest unchanged in her eight years of absence. Death City had always been sleepy, after all; it was mainly a university town, and even then it wasn't that big - just known for its literature studies.

When her Papa'd somehow caught wind that she intended to return to Death City, Maka made it very clear that she wasn't moving back for _him,_ but rather for her studies and the top literature program. So, as compromise, her father bought her a small flat just off campus. She appreciated the gesture, but it wasn't necessary - she said she could pay - after all she'd managed to cover her own insurance and had worked three steady jobs in the past. Her Papa, however, had became even more excited and insisted that he _must_ pay for her place. One advantage, she guessed, was that she didn't have to share the place with anyone if she didn't have to cover rent.

She had picked up the key from her mailbox before she left California, and whilst she was sure she'd miss her Mama, she couldn't help but to be excited that she could finally be on her own - away from her family drama, finally able to focus on schoolwork. With a heave, she pushed the heavy door open and flicked on the lights. It was a modest living space, boasting an open concept, a kitchen to the left, a small dining table immediately in front of her. The intended living room space already had a TV and a couple of couches. Papa must've already furnished a little, she realized, as she pulled her suitcase inside and walked it into her single bedroom. It would do, she figured; in fact, it was better than having to live in residence again. She shuddered when she remembered _those _experiences.

Since classes wouldn't start until the next day, she decided she'd prefer to make her grocery run now, along with the necessary book-buying. The stress of school could begin tomorrow.

Today, she could afford some rest.

* * *

There was a reason why Death City University was known for its English department, she thought as she stretched satisfyingly. So far, she'd had much more fun than she'd anticipated. It was nice to see other students actually _interested _in the same way she was; UCLA was great, but the literature program wasn't to her liking. There was simply too many people for a major as intimate as literature. She was glad she'd transferred here-though she missed the rolling green grass and hills of UCLA, there was something comforting about the sandy, cobblestone streets that snaked their way around campus.

Maka glanced down at her time table. She had an hour before her next class - the perfect time to grab a coffee and begin transferring her typed notes down onto paper. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she sauntered to the closest Starbucks and ordered an iced latte before settling down on a couch.

As she sipped thoughtfully, she couldn't help but recall visions from her past: old haunts that still played with her senses every now and then.

Like him.

She was sure he was out of here by now - she remembered vividly the way he'd talk about Death City, as if he had been itching to leave. He had a future he laid out for himself, and for him, it wasn't here.

She shook her head. There was no use dwelling on such trivialities; after all, the chances of them meeting was slim to none.

Maka pulled out her laptop and opened her minimized word document. She then grabbed her notebook and began scrawling her methodical notes neatly out onto paper. Deep down, she knew this routine was her way of repressing her more disturbing thoughts - the ones that, if she _did_ allow it, would undoubtedly keep her up at night. Even now, eight years later, if she let her mind wander in that direction, she couldn't help but feel a lump form in her throat and a small tear trying to break through its restraints.

* * *

The first time she saw the hair, she balked.

It was on the third day of classes, when the routine was already beginning to settle into her bones and the breaks between classes were no longer hesitant. Granted, Death City wasn't a place for quiet, normal people - the avant-garde city had an unusual array of hair colours, ranging from violent pinks, shocking blues, to midnight blacks. She should know - here her shade of ash blonde was considered relatively normal.

White, however, was not a colour one would see often_ anywhere_.

When she looked back, the shocking colour was gone - unsurprising, seeing as when she noticed him, he was already disappearing into a building. Maka felt the need to reprimand herself. So what if white was a rarer colour? For all she knew, it could be more common here as well; after all, to _get_ crazy colours one would have to bleach their hair first, right? In the back of her head, she recalled the early days in California when she'd turn her head at every deep voice she heard, every shuffle of feet that sounded _distinctly _like his.

She was probably just overreacting - again.

But the second time she saw that hair, two days later, she froze.

And that was when that ruby red gaze pierced her own.

His eyes widened and she was sure hers did too. It didn't take much to remember who they belonged to, considering how often they haunted her thoughts and dreams- more so than she'd like to admit. He looked back, surprise set clear in his features. His face was older, more pronounced - jaw now sharp and defined instead of hinted at from his yet-mature face. His mouth opened to form a word-

But he was lost in the sea of students, swept up by the surge of activity as he was shouldered inside. Maka stared for a moment longer before she blinked and collected herself.

Despite all of his bravado, Soul Evans was still in Death City.

She spun on her heel and strode to class, shaking her head, laughing to herself, smiling a half-smile that refused to leave her lips.

* * *

All there really was around her was loud music, louder voices, and a stench of alcohol so strong she would probably need to wash it out of her clothes the next day. Inside the house, it was swelteringly hot, and she found the woops from the bonfire outdoors almost appealing as she tiptoed around the chaotic mess that was happening inside.

She took her drink with her, swirling the red cup once as she lifted it around tall and most likely inebriated young adults. The backyard wasn't much less crowded but was otherwise bearable, the cool night breeze welcoming against her warm skin. They had actually managed to build the bonfire pretty high considering the barren nature of the ground. That much was inevitable, though, seeing as crazy college students would definitely find whatever odds and ends were necessary to throw a crazier party.

Some guy handed her large branches to throw in when she wanted; she took them absentmindedly, her thoughts slightly hazy and sluggish from the alcohol. It wasn't a state of mind she was _that _accustomed to, but it was pleasant nonetheless.

Maka hardly noticed when someone sidled up beside her, throwing his own stick into the raging flame. He leaned in, and the noise around her seemed to quiet down as he softly said, "Hey."

"Hey," she responded automatically. The cracks of fire licking the new kindling snapped her back into attention. "Wait. _Woah._"

Soul Evans chuckled. It was low, throaty, and somehow eerily familiar despite all the years gone by. He glanced up, a smile quirking his lips. "Maka Albarn, back in Death City and she didn't even give me a call." She rolled her eyes, her cheeks puffing as he laughed again and took a swig of his own red cup. He made a face. "Cheap beer. I keep forgetting it's never worth it." She grinned and raised her own cup to her lips. He watched with a raised eyebrow, letting a low whistle when she lowered hers with a satisfied sigh. "What you got in there?"

"Somersby," she responded daintily. He frowned.

"Isn't that cider?"

"_Delicious _cider," she told him rather childishly, before she blinked and gave him an apologetic smile. "Try some if you don't believe me."

He snatched her cup and took a sip, his red eyes narrowing as he swallowed. "Gross," he said, though his tone was light. But a slightly-tipsy Maka was not a very thoughtful one, for she snatched her cup right back out of his hands and took another gulp. He waited patiently for her to swallow, and when the opportunity came as she lowered her cup, he said, "Didn't think you'd come to a party."

"It's _homecoming. _DCU tradition, isn't it?"

He chuckled. It was an attractive laugh - husky, low, _masculine. _Alcohol was really meddling with her brain.

Maybe the booze was catching up to her, but she looked at him. As in _really _looked at him. His hair was still a puffy snow white - the same as it had always been, but even _more white,_ if that were possible - like a cloud, tempting her to put her hand in it. His eyes were a deep shade of red, just as she remembered from her childhood, and they flickered with the light of the flames as he watched the fire. His skin, darker than it had been when she'd last seen him, maintained a perfect summer-like tan, and the fire pit made his complexion appear warm and homey - comforting, she sluggishly supposed, as he only treated her inquisitive eyes with his profile.

Then their eyes met, and it was like a whole _new _fire consumed her.

It was unlike the real bonfire just beside them - the fire that kept her skin warm and the strange feeling she had that the crowd of people that had previously been around her had moved away. It was unlike the clammy fuzziness she felt from the alcohol, the muted and muddled warmth she felt from the base of her stomach that spread languidly across her veins.

Sparks that would've normally left her jumping on the spot raced down her feet, her palms, leaving her numb. A wave of emotion ran through her that left her throat dry and made it feel as if something were lodged in her throat when she swallowed. Her mind raced, questions and confessions she had long pushed away (though she had admittedly never gotten over) ran through her brain and threatening to spill from her lips.

But that fragile, fleeting moment broke when she turned away. She tried to hide the sudden flush she felt on her cheeks - to mask her sudden embarrassment, as she threw the branch in her hand into the fire. It engulfed in flames, spitting and snapping, the noises and hollers from the party a mere fuzz in the background. She almost felt the grass around his feet shift as he scooted a little closer, throwing in his second branch. The way the fire danced was hypnotic, Maka noted, as she dropped onto her haunches and stared, as if in a trance.

"Hey-" said Soul in his strangely deep and masculine voice. She whipped her head up to face him, their eyes locking once more, simultaneously pleasant and _not_ tingles racing from her spine and her fingers when -

"FOUND YOU!" exclaimed a voice so loud that Maka didn't have to recognize the pitch to know who it belonged to. A hand clapped Soul's back, him wincing, as a shorter but just as tanned man came up to stand beside him. Maka didn't even have to look at the colour of his hair (though, ironically, in the darkness and bonfire glow she would've assumed it was white as well) to know exactly who it was.

Blackstar gave Soul a grin. "Been lookin' for ya. Oh _heeey_, you didn't tell me you found a _girl_." With that, the blue buffoon leaned over to Maka, who in turn leaned further away reproachfully. He coughed and her eyebrow raised, ready to retort in response to any incoming insults. But what came out of his mouth surprised her, for he was suddenly quieter, even polite, "Nice to meet'cha, I'm Blackstar. Soul here is my best friend."

What the hell?

Was he making fun of her, pretending he didn't know her?

"I know who you are," she snapped, ignoring his outstretched hand and standing up quickly. His somewhat dumbfounded look might have been amusing if it weren't for the fact she felt more offended than anything. Soul coughed a poorly disguised laugh.

"It's Maka, you dipshit," he said, and then he was _actually _laughing this time, she noted with a flush of her cheeks. The buffoon balked and turned to her.

"What - Maka, _woah_." She didn't know whether _woah _was an insult or a compliment - rather she couldn't read him _at all, _alcohol notwithstanding, for it seemed he was actually being… _nice _to her? "Didn't recognize you without the, y'know..." His hands flew up and curled into fists against the sides of his head. She felt surprise and embarrassment fuel her stomach as the buffoon laughed and Soul rolled his eyes.

"So you guys are just -"

"- leaving," Soul cut in, his hands curling around her wrists, and before she could even open her mouth, he dragged her away. Words failed her as she watched the buffoon's eyes widen at their retreat, so she kept her mouth clamped shut as he lead her around the house and towards the front entrance.

They found themselves a quieter spot on the front lawn, the noise from the party now dull to their ears. She took another swig of her drink, if only to not waste the alcohol in her cup. She could feel his eyes on her - the same distinct feeling she remembered from years ago - and the small amused smirk toying with the corner of his lips. When she finally set down the cup, he inclined a shoulder to the street. "Want to bolt?"

Her eyebrow raised. _Soul Evans _was taking her out? Or even worse, taking her home? Soul wouldn't… couldn't. But his eyes were earnest - even a little curious - as he awaited her answer.

"I uh, want to sober up a little before I go home though."

Soul smirked, unchanged from their childhood, just a quirk of the left corner of his lip as he nodded. "Noted. I was gonna say we should grab some food, too."

Maka giggled before she glanced at the time from her phone. The numbers _1:34 _flashed back at her. "Ugh, what place will be open now?" she wondered aloud, but Soul merely grabbed her wrist again and dragged her along.

They walked in relative silence, and Maka found herself unsure of where he was taking her. They both knew they would probably go through a lot of talking once they found a place to settle down in...somewhere that wasn't at a bonfire party nor in front of old nuisances.

They soon found a small cafe, its red brick walls splattered with graffiti. Maka wasn't intimidated - this kind of ambiance was a norm in Death City - and once inside it proved to be surprisingly cozy. There weren't many patrons; the space was quiet save for the gentle lull of jazz music. Soul dragged her to a table and pulled out menus from the holder on the side.

As she flipped through it dully, Maka could still feel his eyes on her and she swore she could taste his livid curiosity, the questions that burned on his tongue, as she flipped further through the pages.

When the waitress arrived at their table, Soul politely ordered a black coffee. "Two coffees," Maka corrected. "And a glass of water, please." She ducked her eyes as soon as the waitress left, instead focusing her gaze out the window to the quiet streets of Death City, Nevada. It felt surreal to be back, with _Soul_ of all people, and the pressure was almost too much for her. She avoided his stare and ignored the heavy aura that they _both _had.

Why did he insist on walking her home? Why was he still here? What would have happened between them if she had stayed in Death City eight years ago?

The clinking of glasses and porcelain disrupted her thoughts, her sight just catching the withdrawal of the waitress's hand as she asked if there was anything else she could get them. The boy - no, the man - across from her gave the waitress a quick wave and she left, leaving the two alone once again in silence.

Maka didn't have to look up to know that he was staring at her. Idly, she wondered what he'd say, pondered what thoughts had flashed through his mind.

"Aren't you going to drink it?" he asked, his voice quiet and low despite the sleepy ambience of the cafe.

Maka knew that those words weren't _really_ what was on his mind, but she obliged. He mirrored her movements. They set down their cups, the ticking of the clock suddenly augmented in their silence.

She didn't know where to start; never thought she would have to mentally prepare herself for this encounter.

Neither, apparently, did he. Rather, he seemed to be tripping over the right words before he settled with an innocent, "what are you studying?"

"Literature."

He smirked at her response as he swirled the cup once in his hand. "I'm not surprised, seeing as how you holed yourself up in the library all the time."

Maka snorted. "I was _twelve_," she scoffed, though she could detect the teasing light in his eyes. Soul stretched before wrinkling his nose at untouched drink.

"Jeez, I thought you wanted to sober up."

She rolled her eyes and took another exaggerated gulp, muting the dull throb of alcohol from her temples. "And you?" she asked.

"Undeclared," he responded quickly. Maka waited but he didn't elaborate, instead he plunged on. "So where are you staying?"

"Papa bought me an apartment that's just off campus," she responded, taking another sip of coffee.

His fingers traced lazy circles into the red and white checkered tablecloth. "And you're living on your own?"

"Yup."

"Ah."

It was strange; now that they were alone and had the opportunity, it was like both were afraid to address the real reason why they were right here, right now. But the words weighed down her throat, sticking to her tongue, and part of her was almost too scared to ask the questions. It was all small-talk, really; he might as well have asked her how the weather was, considering how they were skirting around the unavoidable main topic.

"So -" they said together in unison, before he coughed into his hand and she raised her glass of water to take a gulp. As she struggled to get the mouthful down, he took the opportunity to finish his sentence.

His voice was low, his eyes suddenly downcast. Nostalgic shyness and loneliness struck his features, as he said quietly, "where did you end up disappearing to?"

Maka set her cup down. She wasn't expecting to reach this topic - not yet, not so soon. And though Soul tried to keep it light, she could tell he was very much interested, the small table between them creaking as he leaned in, elbows propped on the leathery table cloth. She blinked.

"My parents divorced," Maka murmured, not daring to meet his burning gaze. "My Mama forced me to move to California with her." He let out a low whistle that she ignored. "I had a deal with her, though. I was to try college for one year there, and if I didn't like it, I was allowed back to go Death City, to attend DCU and to pursue my degree of choice."

"So you picked literature," he said teasingly.

"It's better than undeclared," she shot back. Soul wasn't an open book, per se, but Maka could too easily perceive his change of emotion. His eyes fell and his lip curled, the motions so miniscule it would have been easily missed. Internally, she was a little surprised she could note such a difference, but maybe it was because she'd seen a similar expression before - the sourness of his voice, the narrowing of his eyes.

She wanted to ask but he cut off her thoughts. "And how was California?"

Maka frowned. She spread her arms as if to take a mock bow. "Well, I'm here now, aren't I?"

"That bad?" he asked, a twinkle of humour in his eye. Maka glared.

"I mean the weather is to die for, but I've always liked it here more."

He smirked, one hand slipping from his chin and instead landing on the table, fingertips dangerously close to skimming her own. She quickly used her hand to grasp the handle of her coffee mug, taking one more hearty swig to avoid conversation. The swirl of alcohol was definitely all but gone now, and with its loss came a sudden nervousness she didn't know she still possessed. She thought she was over little jitters and dumb butterflies - but maybe this was her adolescent self talking.

She waved the thought away.

"But yes, it was very different from Death City. It's hard being the new kid, especially at such a random time." She paused, swallowing to regain her thoughts. He was eyeing her intently, his posture stiff and his mouth pressed into a line. "But I survived - made a couple of friends. It wasn't bad, not at all, it just wasn't _here. _Nevada. I had always wanted to come back." She let her sentence trail off; she didn't know exactly _what _would've come out of her mouth otherwise. The adrenaline from the coffee and, admittedly, him, wasn't something she was exactly accustomed to.

"I didn't know your parents were fighting."

"Why else would I be, as you said, _holed up in the library _all the time?" she joked, and though he followed along with her humour, his voice was a little more guarded than before.

"Well, I mean, you always did love to christen books as your new weapon." She laughed at the fond memories of her hitting him with whatever she could get her hands on. She only noticed after the fact that his eyes had never left her, fingers tapping patiently, drumming dull rhythms into the table.

"It got pretty bad. As you know, I don't live with my Papa."

"That bad?" He asked once more.

She nodded. Living with her father meant putting up with the very things her Mama hated and ultimately left him for. Soul hummed thoughtfully and Maka lowered her eyes. Maybe it _was _time for Soul to know. After all, he'd probably, guessed all those years ago, that something was wrong. He _had_ alluded to it all the time.

"Papa kept coming home drunk - or he just wouldn't come home at all. But when he did, Mama would just yell at him." She was acutely aware of his attention, the way he watched her unflinchingly as she continued. "It got to the point they couldn't be in the same room for too long. So Mama would just leave early or _something_." She watched her own hands involuntarily ball into fists; her voice trembled once, but she swallowed through it. Soul's fingers twitched toward her once, but she stubbornly shook her head and said, "the worst part was when Papa would blame Mama. As if the only reason they fought was because _she _was the one initiating the arguments, you know? I didn't understand how heartbroken she was until much, much later." She inhaled deeply, struggling to keep her voice from trembling further. "Papa could've _tried. _But he didn't at _all_, because if Mama had said nothing, never argued with him, never pointed out the mistakes that he never bothered to fix, _nothing_ would have changed. They'd still be together - unhappy, but together."

The small cafe was silent now; the other patrons had left, and now the lone waitress was dragging a small tea cloth along each surface. The muted ticking of the clock was the only thing that broke the silence.

"That must've been hard for you," he said quietly.

She nodded.

"I'm sorry."

"I am, too."

She meant every word, in more ways than one.

* * *

Maka didn't know how much time had passed, but the cafe closed and they found themselves on the street. The remnants of voices whooping and hollering were still audible in the distance as the rumbles of the occasional car echoed in the night. A couple of cicadas chirped lazily, low and muffled, yet still distinguishable.

Their walk home was quiet, neither bothering to say much. He stayed just half a step in front of her while she walked behind him, her mind still buzzing. She was surprised at her own openness - alcohol and adrenaline was not a good combination for her, she supposed.

They rounded the corner, and her new apartment waited a half block away. When Soul inclined his head towards it, she nodded and he wordlessly let her take the lead. There was something soothing about his presence, his closeness, in combination with the quiet ambience of Death City during nighttime. She walked up the stairs and lead him down the hallway, lights automatically flickering on as she passed underneath them. "This is it," she said, stopping outside of room 242 and pulling out her keys. He watched wordlessly as she stuck the red and black one into her lock, a quick twist and a quiet _click_ granting her entrance.

He held the door open for her as she slipped inside, mostly sober, though she wasn't sure if the buzz in her heart was due to the trace of alcohol lingering in her system. She slipped off her shoes and kicked them to the side, before closing her eyes to take a deep breath - all of it was still too surreal for her. Soul Evans was at her doorway. She feared that, when she opened her eyes, he wouldn't be there anymore.

But he _was_, and he gave her the same crooked grin that had haunted her thoughts for so long. "Goodnight then."

"Goodnight," she returned reflexively. Maka watched his fingers slip off the handle, watched as the door began to swing shut, watched as it caught automatically and began to slide into place.

Then it wrenched back open.

"Wait, Maka."

She paused and looked up, green colliding into red for the unteempth time that night. His eyes were narrow, serious; the lightheartedness she had relished had all but vanished. He blinked slowly before he gave a small half laugh.

"I used to like you, you know? Back when we were kids."

Those were the words she had longed to hear for so long. She had dreamt of hearing him say them, daydreamed this exact scenario in her head as she watched the towns and cities pass by in the little red car she sat in as she drove out of Death City.

They were the words she, also, never thought she'd hear.

Maka couldn't help the red that dusted her cheeks nor the way a smile crept onto her face. "I know," she said, his eyes widening in surprise as she continued, "and I did, too."

He chuckled lowly, something akin to relief spreading on his features as she realized that he, too, must have been dying to hear those words. He gave a small inclination of his head and she gave him another smile. "I just never got to tell you and it's been bugging me ever since," he said. He shuffled his shoes, a surprisingly abashed gesture, before catching her gaze once more. "I'll see you around campus, Maka."

"Sure," she said as he let go of the door. She watched as it swung before catching and slowly, surely, left behind the boy she once loved and the man she was getting to know. Her smile, still on her face, faltered.

She felt _so relieved, _so happy, so satisfied.

But at the same time, she felt like she wanted to cry.


	3. Chapter 3

He didn't keep his promise.

More than a week had passed since he'd said those fateful words, the ones that had kept her up at night as her eyes traced the lazy, spider-like cracks of light that spread along her ceiling. The words that left a bit of moisture on her cheek, despite trying hard to fight it.

As time went on and she familiarized herself with the campus, she had _thought_ she'd seen his white hair. Only when she focused did she realize it was just a trick of the light: there was no frosted hair in the sea of assorted colours. So she tore her eyes away.

The days passed and she felt the silly giddiness in her stomach mellow out. Soon her eyes no longer searched for white, but instead focused on black - the black print on the page, specifically. Before she knew it, it was Friday - or Friday hell, as she called it, with literature studies right in the beginning of her day before she even got a chance to grab a coffee on the way out.

Maka dodged around the few people on campus who were awake this early - most of them in the same zombified state she was - when a breath brushed so close to her ear that she jumped, squealed, and recoiled backwards.

It was that warm, throaty chuckle. "Woah, don't freak out, it's just me."

"_Soul_," she huffed as he laughed once more. His white hair was even more blinding in the dewy morning light than it had been in the dim glow of fire and cafe. It truly was unmistakable - now that she'd seen it once, she'd never confuse the glossy shine of hair for his own, shimmering white.

"May I?" he asked politely, holding out his hand. She stared blankly until he gestured to the book in her clutches. What did he want with her book? His red eyes appeared mildly interested. _Soul Evans and classical literature? _She had to fight the urge to giggle as she passed it over.

"Jane Austen, why am I not surprised," he teased as he inspected the cover, fingers carefully keeping her page as he turned the novel over. He caught her eyes - his own light and amused, if not a little guarded. "Of course I see all the keeners moving like zombies and then there's you, with your head in your books."

Maka rolled her eyes. She tried to find it in her to be offended, even marginally, but it was hard when he grinned. "And what exactly is that supposed to m-" He cut her off when he handed the book back, giving her an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, I gotta run," he said, already retreating. Maka couldn't find it in herself to move; she only watched as his figure suddenly was no longer within her arm's reach. "I'll make it up to you," he promised before whirling around.

And when she blinked, he was gone.

_What am I doing, _she thought furiously, shaking her head. The book was still faintly warm from when he'd held it, and her heart was still feebly flustered from his proximity. This wasn't part of the plan - meeting _him _here wasn't part of the plan. She had a goal, she had a _reason _why she returned to Death City.

And it wasn't _him. _

But as she felt the breeze pick up her pigtails, as she felt her cream cardigan fan before her, she couldn't help but think that maybe, deep, deep down, her intention wasn't as focused as she once thought.

* * *

It would be another two days until she saw him again.

She told herself that it was just the fact that his hair was _really _hard to miss, especially when he was sitting on his own. A white cup in his hand, a textbook lay before him but he wasn't reading it. Instead he looked out the window and into the dull light of late afternoon on a particularly cloudy day.

Her hands picked up her order and her feet moved her involuntarily towards him, and as much as she tried, she couldn't fight his magnetism. Maka didn't quite understand it herself, but it were like they were opposite polarities, and she had no choice but to be drawn toward him. She sighed and let her feet take her where they bid. Her fist, clutching her own drink, almost brushed his sleeve before his voice called out first.

"Maka?"

She paused.

"Hey," she said lowly. She didn't miss the look that crossed his face - the mild surprise, the slight excitement, but the same _weariness. _He gestured to the seat across from him, her own eyes following his pointed gaze.

"If you're not waiting for anyone," he offered.

What did she have to lose?

Maka sat down, her mind surprisingly clear. The times she let her brain meander to thoughts of him, she couldn't stop her mind from racing. Now, however, sitting as she was in front of him, his chin in one outstretched hand and his elbow resting on a raised knee, it was somehow tranquil.

It was as if time had stilled.

Soul didn't seem as if he had much on his mind either, and eventually he dragged his gaze back to his textbook with a sigh.

Maka, all too aware of her staring, dropped her eyes quickly before he could notice.

She reached into her bag and pulled out her book, flipping to her carefully tagged page. Normally, backgrounds faded into nothingness when she allowed the black print to override her senses, filling her head with scenes and dialogue - her own personal paradise. This time, it was as if she were anchored to reality, too acutely aware of her surroundings. Maka heard clearly the squeak of his chair when he leaned forward, the the sound of a coffee cup as he took sips from it, the lilt of his voice when he hummed tunelessly to himself as he rubbed two fingers along the corner of his textbook. It wasn't much longer before she could also feel his gaze, red-hot and focused, through the shield of her book.

"Done with Austen?" he joked.

Behind the cover she blinked once. _Oh. _"Yeah, I finished it the night I saw you," she supplemented. His chair squeaked once more, a breath blowing out between his lips.

"Right. Sorry about taking off on you like that, I was already running late to meet with my prof."

"It's fine, really," she found herself responding, though she could tell she didn't sound like she meant it. He probably could pick up on that too.

His eyes lingered on her book even as she lowered her forearms, somehow acutely interested in the cover and not her own face. "What course are they for, anyway?"

"Nineteenth Century Literature," Maka said as she kept her eyes fixed onto the cloud of white hair. Soul looked up to meet her gaze, his face set in that familiar expression he always used whenever he was about to tease her when she swiftly cut him off. "It _is _very interesting, thank you -"

"- Only a _nerd _would find that interesting -"

"- Oh _shut up_, if you just gave it a shot-"

"- Please, you'd never catch me with _that -" _

A muted ringing cut them both off.

He blinked. "Sorry, that's me," he said quickly as his arms shifted - she couldn't really see from where she was sitting - and produced a phone, presumably from his pocket. He raised it to his ear. "What do you want - _are you seriously calling me about this -_ dude, you've been dating her for a _year_, you don't - you are _such a loser_." He lowered the phone against his shoulder and told her, "- Sorry, I'll be a minute." Before she could say a word, he stood up and whisked away, cursing into the phone.

Maka reached up and touched her face, a ghost of a smile still etched on her skin.

She disguised her embarrassment, the inaudible-but-may-as-well-have-been pounding behind her ears and the way her fingers drummed an unsteady beat, by taking a sip of coffee. By the time he returned to his seat, his forehead had creased into a bit of a frown. Maka tried to bite back a laugh as he stowed his phone safely away into his pocket. "So stupid."

"Who was it?" she asked after she swallowed past a mouthful of coffee.

"Blackstar," Soul responded dismissively. He eyed her coffee as if noticing it for the first time. "How do you take it?"

"One milk and one sugar, don't change the subject, though," she said as she rubbed her hand around the paper cup. He gave her a fleeting look but she ignored it and continued. "What about buf-Blackstar?"

Soul scoffed suddenly, loudly, a noise that she wasn't aware _impassive _Soul was capable of. He folded his arms and leaned back, rolling his eyes. "The one time the guy isn't in his super-confident God persona is when it has to do with his _girlfriend._" Maka felt her jaw open and she didn't even bother trying to close it as he pressed on. "Their one year anniversary is coming up and he's totally blanking on what to do - _why _is your mouth open like that?"

She swallowed and a giggle escaped despite herself. She missed the way his eyes lightened at the noise, how his weight subtly shifted back towards her. "Oh, I just can't imagine Blackstar dating anyone. His girlfriend must be _terrifying_."

The white-haired man threw his head back and barked a laugh, again, surprisingly louder and more outlandish than she was expecting from him. "Oh man, I should tell Liz that, she'd freak-"

But her brain tuned out his words and she suddenly felt colder, the phantom grin that had been playing with the corner of her mouth gone.

As he laughed to himself, she noticed it. His hair was long, traces of gel present as it stuck up in a way no normal hair could. He seemed more pronounced, older - different than before. His voice was low, deep, rougher. His frame was no longer slim, but ever-so-slightly built, a faint trace of muscle she could spot underneath his orange shirt.

He was no longer awkward, pubescent, trying-to-make-an-impression Soul. He _was _what he was always striving to be: cool, sociable, approachable. He no longer had to put down others when he didn't know what to say to them, he no longer had to try hard to impress others.

It was like those words he said to her that night, after the party - those fleeting moments when his eyes had changed, reverted back to their youthful shyness - was his own goodbye to his past. He finally was able to part from who he once was; he was finally able to get closure.

He was a better, improved, mature Soul.

But he wasn't the Soul she knew.

* * *

They had said their goodbyes and this time, he didn't leave her with the empty promise that he'd see her around. Instead, he gave her his number.

"This isn't going to be what happened last time. Communication," he said, voice half-joking, though his eyes weren't. She had only offered him a smile before writing down her own and giving it to him. He grinned as he crushed the paper into his fist. "And we were all thinking of hanging out at some point - maybe you could come?"

She'd blinked. "We?"

"Everyone."

"Very helpful," Maka had scoffed. He had shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"I dunno, everyone who's been around since the sixth grade." At her look of contempt, Soul had merely sighed. "Look, point is, they're not all total strangers. I'll text you, okay?"

His words had made her heart thump unevenly, and she couldn't help the words that tumbled out of her mouth. "Are you my personal welcome wagon back into Death City?"

Soul hadn't seem offended. Rather, he appeared to be amused. He'd given her a smirk. "Well, who would be better?"

_No one_, Maka thought as she turned the page to her novel. The print was no better than useless scribbles to her, now that her mind was so acutely focused on the very quiet phone beside her. She didn't know what she was expecting, but after she'd returned home and kicked off her shoes, Maka pulled out her book (she, admittedly, didn't make as much of a dent in it than she had hoped) and plopped herself down on her couch.

After five minutes, she found herself playing idly with the napkin that had his number on it.

She set it off to the side and dove back into her book.

After ten minutes, she sighed and put her book down, taking the napkin instead.

She entered in his number, picked up her book again, and purposefully returned to her page.

A further five minutes later, she put her book down and checked her phone.

_This is too much for me to handle,_ Maka thought with acute frustration. She didn't know what was more anxiety inducing: not seeing him in person, or being left with the knowledge that he _had _her number. _Whatever. It's not worth my time right now, anyway. _

She shoved her phone deep into the cushions.

Of course, that's when it vibrated.

And there it was, written surprisingly with perfect grammar (though there was a distinct lack of punctuation), a message to her. It was straight to the point; they were going to go see fireworks at the beachside the next night. _Bring your own booze, _it read, _unless it's Somersby. Don't bring Somersby. _

_Dick_, she thought. But it didn't stop the smile on her face.

* * *

She readjusted the bag on her back as the bus doors hissed shut behind her. The sudden breeze was nice after the stuffiness of the half hour bus ride; the air by the ocean tangier - crisp. Maka inhaled deeply, eyes closed.

And then they opened.

The lake here was different than the one in California. California beaches were almost always crowded, regardless of the time of day. Here, while there was more traffic due to the fireworks, there was something that seemed more _intimate _than the California atmosphere. Maka shook the thoughts from her head and stuck her hand in her pocket, one finger rubbing along the edge of her phone. His text said they wouldn't be too far from the bus stop.

Night was just beginning to settle, the sun casting a pretty orange glow to the water. There was only a light breeze, but otherwise it was a quiet night.

Maka slid off her flip flops, balancing the two off her fingers by the footholds. The sand was still slightly warmed from the sun, not scorching hot as she anticipated. She scoured the beach for a sign of Soul. It was only when she caught sight of a leather jacket strewn to the side did she realize who it belonged to.

Maka approached quietly, her greetings dying in her mouth as a sudden shyness overtook her. Suddenly, she wasn't so sure about this arrangement. She heard the lull of conversation - could tell that, amongst the others sitting around, there were at least four or five people. That didn't include anyone who might be in the water.

"- they're _still _pushing for it?"

"I don't think they ever _won't_, but it's okay - really. It's nothing new," Soul said dismissively, batting a hand toward the other blonde. Maka raised an eyebrow - though the woman looked vaguely familiar, she couldn't pinpoint exactly who she was. Either way she gave a small cough into a fist. Both their heads turned, along with the others sitting around them. She noticed him first, his eyes widening before he clamoured to his feet. "Hey! Glad you could make it out!"

Maka coughed again into her hand, suddenly feeling embarrassed. She could definitely feel their eyes on her as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Uh, yeah," she said rather lamely, letting her eyes fall to the ground.

To her surprise, it wasn't Soul who spoke next, but the blonde beside them. "Maka? Maka Albarn?" Her attention snapped to the taller woman. She was definitely well endowed, but had long and slightly curly blonde hair, an effect achieved through the use of styling tools, that much was obvious. Maka could only stare, to which the woman laughed. "I guess you don't recognize me."

"Sorry."

She barked another laugh. "Hah, Soul says you've changed, but to me, you haven't really. Erm, well..." Even if Maka wasn't looking at her face, she didn't need to see it to know that the woman was staring at her chest. "I guess _that _nickname isn't applicable anymore. It's me, Liz. Liz Thompson?"

Memories of the other blonde flooded back to her in an instant. They were never close but they did talk here and there; Maka would even venture to say Liz was probably her closest friend, along with the younger Thompson, when she was still in middle school. But, like everyone in Death City, they had fallen out of contact.

Liz gave a large smile and patted the space beside her. "I haven't seen you in forever. Patti'll probably want to chat, too, but she's out in the water right now." She inclined her head towards the water, where Maka could just make out the outline of the younger Thompson. Liz followed her gaze with her own. "Girl doesn't know how to read a mood," she lamented as she readjusted herself.

Maka said nothing as she set down her bag beside Liz, sitting down and bringing her knees to her chest. Soul wasted no time in introducing her to everyone, and with each passing name she remembered snippets more about each of them. There was Killik, a boy who'd sometimes hang out with Buffoon and Soul but not often enough for her to really note; Kim, who she kind of remembered being a bully; Jacqueline, who was also as quiet as she was once; Ox - who had never been in her own class, but she knew him because he was always first in _his. _

She gave them all a half wave before she found herself recounting why she'd left Death City in the first place. Even as she spoke, she could distinctly feel _his _stare on her.

As usual.

Maka decided to leave out some details, like how she had planned on doing something _other _than sit in a car for five hours straight whilst she moved. She noticed Soul's expressions from her peripheral - while wearing an innocent mask of calm, she could see the lines as his nose wrinkled, the frown as his lip curled, the small signs of displeasure as she concluded her story with her decision to move back to Nevada.

As her story tapered off, she was acutely aware of all of their lingering looks.

"You must've had it rough," Killik said sympathetically as Liz gawked at her. She gave a small half nod.

A silence settled before Kim stood up abruptly. "Well, I'm not hanging around here all day. I'm gonna go swim. Jackie?" The dark-haired Asian stood up quickly in response. "Maka?" she offered as Ox stood up as well.

Maka shook her head. "I wanted to get some reading done before the lighting gets worse."

Kim shrugged. "Suit yourself," she said as the trio ran to join the others already in the water. Maka sighed and scooted further back on the mat Liz had laid out, pulling out her book and spreading it over her lap.

She didn't know what was wrong with her recently, for even as her eyes began to fill with images of the narrative, her ears were still listening to those around her, picking up on snatches of the conversation between the remaining three who hadn't gone into the water.

"- I still think free jazz was the best era -"

"- It's only because you would've banged Miles Davis, let's be real now -"

"- You're not wrong, but the only reason you like ragtime the best is because of the piano -"

"- you sound like my parents, everything is always piano…"

The more she tried to get into her book, the more she felt out of place - like she didn't belong, really. Sure, they had all been kind enough to listen to her story, but she had a sneaking suspicion it was more out of polite obligation than genuine interest. As their conversation carried coherently without her, she only further stuck her face into the pages.

And the conversation continued.

"- how often anyways?"

"- pushing twenty hours now -"

Killik let out a low whistle.

She concentrated harder.

"- but remember when he messed up _live_ -"

"- my folks wouldn't stop talking about it, it was a serious thing for them -"

" -my parents said once is fine but as long as it didn't happen again-"

" - Patti just laughed, I guess she didn't get how bad it was -"

_Nor do I_, she found herself thinking, before she caught herself. _Ugh._ She didn't know why it was so hard to concentrate around all of them recently, but there was too much unproductivity for her liking. Under any other circumstance she would've excused herself, especially here when she felt like such an intruder.

_Whatever. _

She steeled her will and brought the book back up.

Something worked this time around, for her eyes and ears filled with senses outside of her own reality. Maka truly relished in that feeling - where she felt like she was floating, she was so immersed in the novel. It was better than a movie for she controlled everything that happened, with help from the text. Reading had always been her first love, she realized, but that was something she was comfortable with as she sunk deeper in the pages.

It was only when she heard a very obvious "_Maka!_" that she was shaken out of her reverie. She turned to the source of the sound, surprise filling the base of her stomach when she realized Soul was on her other side - Killik and Liz both gone.

"Where-" but he cut her off, using his chin to point out the two new figures that joined those in the water. "- Oh."

The breeze was nice, she realized, as it tickled her skin.

"How're you doing?" he asked, his voice raised slightly to counter the wind.

"Fine," she lied, replying a little too fast. His eyes narrowed and she sighed. "Or, well, I will be. I'm the new one here so I'm probably just not helping myself."

"Nah, they all like you Maka. What's not to like, your bookworm personality?" And then he was muttering apologies as she raised her book threateningly, though she could detect the spark of amusement in his eyes. As he ducked his head almost into her lap, he then noticed her open bag. "_Somersby_," he groaned, and this time she really did hit him.

She cracked open a can as he opted for whatever other beer he had, though she did notice his occasional glances into her bag. They fell into a comfortable conversation, somehow easier than it had been in the past. Maybe it was the drinks. He was surprisingly good at keeping up, edging her on to talk more, until they both had erupted in a small fit of giggles over his alcohol-induced impression of Blackstar over the years.

The setting sun caught his profile perfectly, tinting his white hair orange and making his eyes seem as if they were liquid fire. She then noticed his jawbone and the hint of a stubble that dotted his skin.

He really had grown into his body, she realized, even his sharp, razor-like teeth.

She wondered what they'd be like to the touch. What they'd be like against her tongue, nibbling on her skin.

She pulled herself out of _those _dangerous waters.

She didn't know how long they'd sat there for, sipping their drinks (at one point she noticed he had taken one of hers - not that she minded) as they continued to talk. He really _was_ easy to converse with, but then again, he always was. At least to her.

Maybe it was because his eyes were like hers - lonely, guarded.

She had all but forgotten that it wasn't just the two of them who had made it out to the beach that evening - was only reminded of this fact when the rest of their initial group finally returned. Well, everyone save two. "_You two started without us?_" was Liz's outraged cry as Soul waved her off. Maka couldn't help but to giggle as Liz sighed and dug into her own backpack, tossing her sister a beer before cracking one open herself.

"And you haven't met Tsubaki yet," Soul said, gesturing to the other raven-haired girl who stood beside the Buffoon. She looked vaguely familiar - probably from Ox's class, someone she'd never met on her own. Tsubaki gave a cheery wave, to which Maka gave one back. She saw Liz and Soul exchange a small look before she felt his voice tickle her ear. "Blackstar's girlfriend."

She nearly spat out a mouthful of Somersby.

Liz and Soul erupted into a fit of laughter around her before the Buffoon stood up. "Soul, you, me, Killik, Kid. Volleyball?" Soul groaned in protest but Blackstar barreled on. "We can't get Ox 'cuz he's … yeah." The blue-haired man gestured back into the water. Maka opted to not take a detailed look. "You have no choice, man."

"Fine," Soul sighed as he carefully secured his half-finished Somersby into the sand. He stood up, patted the sand off his swim shorts, before he ran to join the boys. Maka watched his retreating figure before she plucked his can from the ground, raising it to her lips. She heard a flourish of movement around her until she realized the other girls had sat around her.

"It's really nice to have you back Maka," Patricia said from her right. "We missed you!"

Maybe it was the dull throb of alcohol, but she felt her cheeks flush and her stomach warm. "Really?"

"Sure," Liz answered, her voice suddenly distant as her eyes misted over. She took a sip of her own beer before continuing. "You were a lot of fun to hang around, you know?"

It was nice to know that they appreciated her - more than she could ask for, really, she thought through the haziness of her brain. She took another sip. Liz gave a small grin. "Did you get Soul into Somersby?"

"He just makes fun of me for drinking it," she murmured into the metal. Liz guffawed with Patricia, even Tsubaki giggled politely into her sleeve.

"_That _part of him hasn't changed - him making fun of stuff he actually _likes_," the blonde said, laughter still evident in her voice. Maka felt herself glow red - stupid really, because she didn't know how he felt _now_, but definitely, all those years ago…

Liz continued, "You know, when he found out you left, he was actually pretty quiet." Surprise welled up inside her, confusion dulling her senses even further as words suddenly stuck to her throat. _What? What else did Liz know? What had Soul chosen to omit from his recountings? When did Soul even answer any of her questions? _

The older Thompson must've not picked up on her signal for she launched on anyway, cutting her off. "But that was a long time ago. He's different now - I'm surprised you can recognize him, actually. Well, figuratively speaking," she laughed to herself and took another long swig of beer. Maka, admittedly, was more impressed with Liz's use of the word. So maybe everyone _was _different, eight years later.

Suddenly, her brain clicked in place.

What exactly _was _she doing?

Up until now, when she saw Soul, she didn't see _him. _Not for who he was now, not for the twenty year old Soul in front of her. She just saw his twelve-year old iteration, the awkward, pubescent Soul who would tentatively talk to her in the library.

He wasn't the confident, cool Soul that she met at the bonfire. Her brain didn't let her meet him. She only saw the Soul from her childhood. The Soul that had haunted her dreams, her thoughts, her past. She wasn't looking at Soul, but _comparing him_, comparing him back to what her memory retained of her first love.

When she had looked at him, she was looking at failed opportunities.

No wonder people said she was often too judgemental - something she had been working on, but still.

_She_ was the one stuck in the past, clinging onto the old Soul.

"Maka?"

"What?" she said quickly, blinking herself out of it. She suddenly felt cold, the lack of sun apparent now. She hadn't realized the girls had shifted again, leaving the spot on her left open again. Liz, who had now returned to her right side, answered, "It's gonna start soon. The guys are coming back. And Kim and Ox are nowhere to be found."

"Gross," Jacqueline tutted. Maka had to agree.

She watched as the four boys returned, suddenly feeling shy as she avoided eye contact with one in particular. Maka jumped when she felt him sit down beside her before he cursed upon seeing the empty can. "Just for that, I'm going to have to take another one," he joked, and she heard him lean over and pluck another Somersby from her bag.

She heard the conversation around her but she kept her eyes downcast, only responding when spoken to and definitely not wanting to talk to _him. _After all, how could she be so _stupid_? He had moved on; he didn't see _her _as the twelve year old, entitled and even _more _judgemental Maka as opposed to her, right here, right now.

It was utterly and totally embarrassing.

It was only when everyone was agreeing to go find a better spot -Blackstar and Tsubaki went off somewhere, not that anyone really wanted to find them anytime soon- that Maka's head shot up and off her forearms. "You coming?" Killik asked. She opened her mouth but she realized it was Soul behind her who had instead said "no", his breath surprisingly close to her ear, sending shivers down her spine. The darker boy shrugged before turning, their chatter dying quickly as more people gathered to the beach.

Maka was painfully aware of their isolation.

She didn't know what to say.

She also felt kind of cold.

"Want my jacket?"

"What?"

He chuckled as he gestured the leather jacket that was beside the mat that Liz thankfully left behind. "Want it?" he asked again. _Did she?_

"If you don't mind," she said quietly. He assured her that he didn't, carefully draping the material over her shoulders. It felt worn in a nice way, smelling faintly of a cologne that she didn't recognize. It was a nice, comforting smell, in a strange, foreign way. _Weird._ She hesitantly slipped her arms through - all too aware of how the sleeves were too big, the torso too long, the way he watched her. "Thanks," she mumbled lamely.

He smiled. "Don't mention it. What did Liz talk about?"

"You."

His eyes hardened - it was slight, but she could suddenly see the walls build in them, the way his body stiffened at her words. "And?"

"Nothing, really," she found herself saying, too fast, too scared she had offended him. "Just reminiscing."

"I see," Soul said before his tone lightened again. "Good things, I hope."

"What's not to love, your _amazing _personality?" He gave a low chuckle at her retort. The stars were bright enough to illuminate his face, giving Maka a vague idea of where everything was. Even though there was the dull rumble of conversation from around them, the occasional burst of laughter or the excitable screams, it was somehow peaceful, quiet - in a different way than the bonfire was (though she had to say the buzz of alcohol was the same).

He suddenly turned to her, mouth open, but his words were cut off by an ear-deafening pop of fireworks. She turned quickly, watching the explosions of blue, white, red, orange, and yellow streak the sky. "Wow," she breathed. She turned to him excitedly, expecting to meet his gaze.

She only saw his profile, instead.

And he was breathtaking.

His face really _was _angular, especially from the side. His jawline, his nose, even the curve of his eyes. With every flash of light, they seemed to flicker a different shade, making his eyes seem warm and _alive_. His skin appeared surprisingly smooth. His mouth, finally, curved into a small smile, the perfect way to round out his features and make him, well, _hot_.

Her heart thudded erratically.

He turned to her, the smile still on his face.

"Isn't this cool?"

The flash of light hit again, illuminating him, tinging his hair purple and blue as colour flooded his face - his youthful excitement even more tangible than before.

Her palms felt sweaty.

"It is," she responded. Her voice shook.

He grinned. "Kind of makes up for last time, right?"

And those were the exact words she feared.

Not because of the words themselves - no, it wasn't due to the reminder that came with what he had said, the reminder of the promise broken eight years ago. It was the fact it _was _a reference to eight years ago - the past she had been stuck in for years - and she felt no reaction. She didn't feel pity, she didn't feel disappointment, she didn't feel regret.

She felt nothing.

Because she was no longer living in the past.

She was falling in love with him all over again.

No.

_No. _

She didn't come here for love - she didn't return to her hometown to seek him out again, to find him, to have her heart break once more. She didn't want to _know_, she didn't want to be aware of her growing fondness for him. Sure, it was kick-started by their past, but she had a feeling that, regardless, she would've fallen for him anyway.

He was kind, he was sociable, he was considerate.

Everything she looked for in a guy, honestly.

But of all people, not Soul. Not Soul who, until very recently, she couldn't even see face-to-face.

Regardless of her inner turmoil, the fireworks raged on. She didn't know what to do. She had no idea what she _could _do. Her instincts told her to run - to find a place where she could mull it over, clear her head, and then figure out how to deal with it. However the fireworks held her there, each _crack_ like a toll of a clock, reminding her of the time she had to spend beside him.

She could sense his body heat, she could feel the electricity shooting from his fingertips from where they were, spread and propped, keeping him upright. She could see the way his eyes flickered back to her occasionally before refocusing on the display in front of him.

This was bad.

This was really bad.

It was too late; history liked to repeat itself.

Before she knew it, Maka was already too far gone.

* * *

By the time everyone regrouped, Maka had fallen back into a stunned silence. She didn't know what to say, feared that whatever _did _come out of her mouth if she tried to speak would somehow be inadequate. All the while her mind raced with thoughts of _him_, overriding all of her other senses. His face etched into her mind so she wouldn't soon forget it.

Thankfully, the chatter was still going on and she didn't have to contribute much as they crossed the beach back toward the bus stop, a line already forming. Maka watched the crowd with solemn eyes. What was she going to do? What could she do?

She only knew one thing for certain, and that was that she didn't want everything to end up like last time.

The swell of conversation really _did _devolve to nothingness around her, the burn of his stare the only real link she had with the outside anymore. She just didn't know. _She just didn't know. _

The bus rounded the corner and opened its doors - the people that had been waiting already moving to push inside.

Soul was the last to follow in after Killik. Maka watched his back, clad in the jacket she was wearing only moments before, her mind and heart racing. Why was she getting so choked up? Confusion gnawed at her stomach before it all became clear to her. The raging storm within her suddenly quelled as the idea solidified in her brain; the calm causing her ears to ring in its unsettling stillness. He turned to face her expectantly, but she only gave him a smile.

"I forgot something on the beach," she fought to keep her voice steady but she was sure it cracked at least once. Soul opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. "I'll catch the next bus, okay?"

It was a dumb idea, but she already enforced the rules.

If Soul got off the bus, she'd keep loving him. Maybe she'll even give love a shot.

If he didn't get off the bus, well, she'd get over him.

_No exceptions_, she thought, the words echoing hollowly in her head.

When their eyes met, she was tempted to just allow herself to tell him, then and there. A small part of her held back - just a small part - from grabbing his jacket and pulling it back towards her.

He made no motion to move, though.

Maka closed her eyes.

If he got off the bus, she'd keep loving him.

If he didn't get off the bus, she'd get over him.

_If he doesn't get off this bus, I'll get over him. If he doesn't get off this bus, I'll get over him. If he doesn't get off this bus, I'll get over him. _

She repeated the phrase over and over, but with every refrain he seemed less likely to move. She squeezed her eyes shut, the mantra only louder in her ears.

_Please get off -!_

The bus's doors hissed closed, tires squealing as it pulled out, driving away with a roar. She felt the air blow by, picking up her pigtails, blowing them in the wind, feeling nothing around her.

Slowly, she opened her eyes.

And there he was.

With a stupid half smirk and a voice as smooth as velvet.

"Where to?"

And that was when Maka knew she was entirely, utterly, defeated.


	4. Chapter 4

Her head throbbed.

Maka stared into dark mahogany, her eyes barely managing to follow the curve of the wood. She only vaguely remembered how she'd gotten there. All that she could discern through the dizziness of her hangover and her muddled senses were the foggy memories of dragging herself out of bed and out the door. She'd even forgone her much needed shower, only stopping to pick up a set of keys, lanyard first, and barely managing to swipe her door handle open.

How had she even managed to make it to the library? Although, in hindsight, it wasn't surprising to her that she'd somehow ended up at her not so secret haven- though the very memory of collapsing into the chair was lost to her. She didn't even have a book or any classroom materials. Just the dumb headache and the remnants of a hangover.

Her phone was an arm's reach away from her, the lightly pulsing LED only making her head hurt worse. She groaned and flipped the device down, instead choosing to bury her face into her arms.

She just _had_ to drag herself away from home, away from the comforts of her own bed (and her own _bathroom)_ into a library. She wasn't even in any state to _read_!

Sometimes, her own subconscious shocked even her.

Maka closed her eyes, trying to ignore the dull throbbing behind her temples. She didn't think she'd had that much to drink the night before, but it didn't matter. All she could focus on, the only thing that really mattered to her, was the pain in her head.

Even in her state, she heard the sound of the chair in front of her scrape back as someone sat down, could even feel the slight warmth that radiated from their arms as they settled. Maka could barely muster the will to lift her head, only managing to open up one eye from beneath her forearms.

The whiteness of his hair was _really _unwelcome against the warm browns of the DCU library. Her eyes widened before she threw her face back into her arms, a sudden spike of heat warming her cheeks. "Go away," she moaned, though Soul gave no sign of movement as he merely chuckled lightly, a muted shuffling of clothing telling her that he had settled in his seat.

"Are you okay?"

"No," Maka said into her arms, though the sound of his voice was warm in her ears, like a hot water bottle against her aching brain. Great, now not only did her head throb, but so did her heart. Why, oh _why _did she have to realize she was still attracted to him? And why, of all things, was that memory _painfully _clear in her head, amongst the other, somewhat blurry haze from the rest of the previous night?

After a few minutes of prolonged silence, his voice cut into her cherished quietness, dragging her back into a forced awareness. "Maka?"

"Why are you here?" she asked quickly, and if she were in the right state of mind, she may have caught the hints of sourness in her tone. As it was, she didn't notice, although she did note how his reply seemed more guarded than usual.

"You… don't remember?"

She could only really register how his voice was somehow velvety and smooth, as if it were personally soothing her headache and dulling the pain in the back of her eyes. "Wh-what?"

Soul didn't laugh this time, but he pressed something that was cold, yet faintly warm against her skin. She grasped it, then frowned as she discovered her own phone in her clutches. Maka resisted the urge to take it and throw it out of the safety of her arms.

"You texted me," Soul supplied after more than a few beats of irritable silence.

Maka blanched. She honestly had no recollection of ever doing so. She didn't want to turn on the screen and face the harsh glare that would prove to her that, when hungover, she had no way of stopping her subconscious.

So she merely took his word for it, letting a noncommittal grunt out of her lips. She heard the squeak of his chair as he shifted, letting out a small chuckle. Feeling groggy, she let her arms slide out from underneath her cheek until her face was against the cool wood. It felt good against her warmed skin. She took a small but sharp inhale. "Sorry."

"'S no problem," Soul responded, and though his voice was bracing, she could discern a slight bit of embarrassment. In her catatonic state, she briefly wondered what was going through his mind - did he get up especially for her? Was he hungover too?

She allowed a bemused laugh through her lips. Of course not.

"What's so funny?"

She opened her eyes and meticulously observed the library wall. "The fact that I have a freakin' hangover, and I barely had four drinks," she felt herself respond almost mechanically. She heard shuffling and the brief sound of wood scooting against wood. His laugh was somehow closer to her ear. She could feel soft tufts of hair against her neck, tickling the sensitive skin, drawing minute electric sparks to spread at the contact. She felt heat flood to her cheeks, thankfully negated by the cool wood of the desk.

"I'm really glad you came yesterday." His voice was definitely close to her ear. She only hummed her acknowledgment.

A small silence stretched between them, comfortable and still despite how jumpy shefelt - heat and hangover included.

Yet despite it all, Maka still felt the slightest hint of anxiety. Like she needed to talk, and if she didn't, he'd somehow slip away. He wouldn't be anchored to her, he wouldn't have to stay. And she wanted him to. She wanted him to stay with her forever, in this library, with their heads on the table.

Like when they were children.

"Liz was really nice to me," Maka chose to say instead. The table vibrated as he hummed; a deep sound that caused small tremors against her cheek.

"She might deny it, but she was pretty shaken up when you left."

"I would've told everyone if I could. Really!" she insisted at his laugh - but something about it wasn't exactly _amused_. It was a quiet sound, somewhat ironic, and suddenly she felt nervous. She really did leave with no reason. No warning. And though she _had _dwelled on it before, it had never hit her as hard as it did this time.

"You know, you and Tsubaki would've gotten along - she transferred into our class the next year."

Maka blinked. She didn't talk much with Tsubaki that night, though the few moments they _did _interact, the taller woman was really … nice. Mellow. Unlike Blackstar. "And just _how _are those two together?" she found herself muttering.

His chuckle was close - too close, she realized with a shudder, as his breath tickled along her neck. It caused ripples up and down her skin, making her ultra-aware of the tingling in her fingers and forcing her to swallow thickly. "Beats me. Beats _everyone_. But they suit each other, I mean I don't believe in soulmates or anything but… if it existed, they'd be made for each other."

_Soulmates. _There was something about the way his voice caressed the word, despite what he said about it, that stirred her heart. Maka hated herself - she hated that she felt that stupid bit of excitement at the very thought. She hated that she couldn't shake the sneaking suspicion that she had already _found _her soulmate. She hated that she fell for Soul Evans once before, but now all over again.

In those tender moments, his breathing played with the hairs on her neck. Each of her inhalations were shaky, hesitant. If she closed her eyes, the world would spin - but whether from her lingering nervousness or subsiding headache, she didn't know. "Soulmates," she whispered, testing the word on her tongue. It sounded foreign, strange, but somehow comforting. As if there was something within the very concept that made her feel safe: the only anchor that kept her from slipping.

His voice was right on her neck, in her ears, so close she could practically taste each of his words. "I don't think it holds much water, though."

She tried not to shudder. "That's kind of sad."

"Sometimes sadness is good. It means it's _real_."

His words, quiet and almost introspective, made her feel as if she were intruding on his own private thoughts; as if it was something she shouldn't be listening to. She swallowed back the beats of her heart, tried to quench the flames that ignited along her skin, tried to will back the sweat on her palms. Somehow, she _knew_. She knew those words weren't as light as he tried to pass them off as; that there was a lingering sorrow that motivated him to speak.

Maybe she wasn't the only one stuck in the past.

"Soul-" she said, turning around.

And he was there, inches from her, his lips so close to hers Maka swore if she even inclined her head forward, they would meet.

His red eyes were wide with surprise, yet still, warm and vivid. His mouth, just slightly parted, closed as he swallowed. She could see his Adam's apple bobbing, but that didn't stop her from being locked into his gaze.

She couldn't tear her eyes away.

She could see it then, the hesitant reach of his fingers extending towards her. Part of her wanted to flinch away, but she soon felt slim digits touching the top of her head, brushing through the strands of blonde. Each sensation sent shivers down her spine, making her lips quiver against her will, leaving her breathless as his hand languidly made his way towards her cheeks, her face.

He didn't say a single word.

But she understood.

She wanted to move, to blink, to close the distance between their mouths. She wanted to mirror his movements, trace his jaw, his lips, his chin, trace _him_. She wanted to press her cheek against his palm, to let him know that she _really was here. _He wasn't dreaming. He didn't have to think about the past anymore.

She was finally here.

He could finally touch her.

And all the while, they never broke eye contact.

She felt her mouth part, parched with all the words she couldn't say. But then, all too soon, his fingers slowly but surely left her hair, before they could get close to any actual skin. He blinked and then swallowed once more.

She willed herself to speak, to whisper his name, to stop him before he looked away. And though he hesitated, as if he wanted to say something, he slowly lifted his cheek, his temples, his face, from the mahogany surface and away from her.

"I-"

"I know."

Her voice was quiet, fragile, the last thing she wanted. She wanted to appear strong, like he had, as if the past hadn't affected her. She somehow wanted the same nonchalance that he had when he told her that night that he'd liked her.

But it was different. It was so different. This wasn't some stupid childhood crush that she had harboured before she even knew what was happening.

He covered his mouth with his hand, blinking and turning away. Maka dropped her gaze, and with it, her heart. It was like a pressure pushing down her chest, a feeling she couldn't so easily swallow away. And yet, she didn't know why. _She didn't know why_.

Every time she saw him, every time he looked at her, even before she _knew _she loved him, she felt her breath leave her body. And she _hated_ the feeling, she hated feeling so helpless and at his mercy, even though it wasn't his fault. It was hers - her stupid fault that she got choked up at every fleeting glance, every small touch, every lopsided smile.

It was like fire - consuming her thoughts, her feelings, her air. What they had in the past - it was just a spark compared to what she felt now. And as he sat across from her, eyes unfocused and tanned cheeks dusted red, she couldn't help but to think that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same flames.

* * *

Mondays, he had class in the building across from hers. Basic music theory, as she'd find out later, and at precisely three pm he'd be outside the building as she left hers. Maka didn't know she was searching for him but once she was locked into his ruby red gaze, she'd feel awkward. Shy, even. Then he would cough and look away. And she would carry on.

Wednesdays, he would be entering the building just as she left. Global literature, which was somehow amusing to her because she never guessed he'd be one to _read_. When their eyes had first caught, he had looked away quickly while blushing, as if embarrassed to have been caught doing something as uncool as reading. As much as she had a sneaking, comforting suspicion as to the source of the red that dusted his cheeks, she couldn't help but to swallow back her own embarrassment, especially as she teased him about helping her.

Fridays. The mornings where she clutched a coffee in one hand and balanced a stack of books under the other. She'd already be at campus at some ungodly hour in the morning and he'd show up beside her. At first, he'd just walk half the way, their conversation easy if not a little self-conscious. At first, their fingers would brush. He'd pull his hand away and she'd blink, trying to control the urge to do something more drastic. But soon, they stopped acting as if the spark they felt was there. It _was, _and overtime it became more and more poignant that she swore it left her fingers numb. But then she'd take the coffee he handed to her, as that, too, grew into their Friday routines. One cream, one sugar. Black for him.

Maka didn't know when those even tiny, insignificant details had ingrained themselves into her memory. But it was so natural, like breathing, to the point that when they'd walk up the stupid hill towards their classes, she could swear a finger would linger, half curled around hers, before it'd swing away with the rest of his hand.

She pretended not to feel it.

And most recently, every other Friday, they'd meet up. As the lingering warmth of October melted into the crispness of November, she could feel herself drawing closer and closer to him, as if trying to edge her way closer and closer to the comforting warmth that was _him. _Sometimes, she'd catch herself, sometimes not, and by the time she was all but leaning on his shoulder she'd nudge him once playfully.

When it wasn't a tinge awkward, Maka had to admit, it was quite comfortable. When he had offered to study with her, she was expecting to meet him at a library. And as Soul lead the way, barely a half step ahead of her, she followed, their conversation light and relaxed. As they rounded the corner, she already knew where they were headed before they arrived. "Here again?" she couldn't help but to ask as she faced the red-bricked, tiny cafe where they had spent their first few hours truly alone.

Soul turned and gave her a smirk. "It's different when it's not catering to two drunk adults at one AM."

"Haha," Maka said humourlessly as he pushed open the door and gestured her in first. Stupid Soul, trying to be poetic.

As the waitress whisked away with their orders, Maka leaned on the table, her chin in her hand, propped up by her elbow. Her other hand lazily traced the diamonds of the leathery tablecloth. She tried to ignore the heat that came from the feeling of his eyes on her. It wasn't until the waitress set down their coffees that he cleared his throat and leaned over. Maka only watched, mug raised to her lips, as he pulled out a textbook and laid it on the space in front of him.

"Soul Evans, _studying at will,_" Maka teased. He threw her a look that clearly said _very funny_ as he flipped through the book to a carefully tabbed page. The foreign sound of jazz music coming from the speakers above them was intrusive to her thoughts. For some reason, when he wasn't paying attention to her the strange absence of conversation made her uncomfortable, as if she were craving more of his attention. As if she wanted him to look at her, _only her_, and not a dumb textbook.

It was messing with her head.

He only gave her a half smile before he disappeared into his textbook, pouring over the pages. Maka could only sigh as she pulled out her new book, opening to her meticulously bookmarked page and began to read.

She didn't know what else she expected. Why did she expect anything more? They were just two friends who were going out to study. Perhaps in a bit of a nostalgic place, but instead of anything she would've expected, here they were, textbooks out. All conversation faded into a painfully platonic silence.

If she wasn't so deep into the narrative of her novel, she may have noticed the more-than-occasional half glances he'd shoot at her every other page. Everytime she peered over the edge of her book, she only saw his downcast eyes, an unnaturally serious concentration screwing up his face as he traced a finger along the page.

Maybe it wasn't so out of his character after all, she thought. A few minutes passed and he let out a sudden groan, his forehead against his hand before his entire head slid down onto the textbook. She tried not to laugh at the fluff of white hair that had enveloped the book, resisted also the temptation to run her fingers through the locks out of interest. Instead, she stared as he began to lightly bang his head against the cover.

"Textbook abuse," Maka called, a hint of a smile on her face as he groaned again.

"How about student abuse?" he mumbled into the pages. Soul slowly lifted his head, taking a swig of coffee, before scooping up his textbook and stowing it back in his backpack. "It's no use."

"It's been only half an hour."

"It's no use," he repeated pointedly as he waved the waitress over. She seemed to be somewhat familiar with him, as she gave a fleeting smile.

"Staying for dinner?"

Soul shot Maka a pointed look. Were they? Sure, they had gone out for coffees and small snacks, but never a full _meal. _Maybe she was overthinking things. With only a hint of hesitancy, Maka nodded a slow confirmation. The waitress flashed them a smile and pulled two menus out of her pocket.

After they had ordered, Soul let out a sigh and reclined back in his seat. Maka briefly entertained the idea of chiding him about his posture, but the words died on her lips as he glanced up at her. Another ten minutes of strangely tense silence stretched before the server came out with two burgers. The silence only lasted longer as they ate, words lost to them.

It was only after they'd finished their meals in relative silence that Maka finally stirred out of her thoughts. The bill was set on the table and Maka reached for it, only to have her fingers collide with Soul's. She withdrew quickly, bill crumpled in her fist. He held out his hand, palm up.

"I got it," she protested, but he only waited patiently. She ignored the gesture, digging into her bag for her wallet, until his voice cut into her thoughts.

"You know… you don't have to spend every moment we're together making it up to me."

Maka froze, her fingers already grasping the edges her wallet, before she withdrew her hand quickly. Heat spiked her cheeks and she felt herself nearly _vibrating _with a combination of horror, embarrassment, and even a slight bit of indignation. It was one of those things she didn't realize she was trying to do until he said it: and suddenly it all fell into place. Damn it. _Damn it. _She thought she was over it - over this thing that happened eight years ago.

Apparently, he was too.

So she covered her mistake by rolling her eyes as she fished out the appropriate cash from the sleeve. "Don't be ridiculous, this is for the coffees you get me every morning."

But her quiet, meek tone wouldn't fool anyone, let alone _him, _as he stared at the money she put down with a strange, unreadable expression on his face.

* * *

"You know, if you still have to get some studying done… you're welcome to come over for a bit," her voice grew quieter as she spoke. She could tell that Soul gave her a short glance, but she tried to ignore the electric pull of his vision and instead kept her gaze steadily fixed ahead.

They were back on the road, and he'd already promised to walk her back to her apartment. She insisted it wasn't necessary, but he had given her a long stare. It was then he all but thrust his jacket into her chest, insisting it was cold outside (he wasn't wrong) and that she'd have to return it to him anyway.

She had no choice but to put it on.

So there they were, her in the too-large leather jacket, walking wordlessly down the sidewalk until they arrived at her house.

It was like deja vu; Maka reached with her key and unlocked it swiftly. This time she kept the door open, turning around and giving the white-haired male a pointed look as he lingered at her doorstep.

"If that's okay with you."

"It's not a problem," she said quietly, taking a half step back as he walked in.

That was how they also added a new thing to their schedules - Friday night study sessions - and neither complained as they slowly added more of each other into their daily lives.

* * *

"Why do you do that?"

Maka paused, her pen resting against the curve of her chin. Her laptop emitted a rather bright glow against the rather dimly lit room, her typed notes open as she meticulously wrote them down on paper. He watched her with a slightly bemused expression, having abandoned his textbook to stare at her instead.

She sighed. "I told you before, I can type faster than I write but I can't study off a computer."

Soul snorted as he dropped his gaze. "Something must've happened in California if you stopped _handwriting _your notes to begin with."

She rolled her eyes and chucked her pencil case at him. It hit him in the head and fell limply to the table as he growled in protest.

Served him right.

Maka leaned over her papers once more, finishing the last few words of the weekly lecture notes before she set down her pen with a sigh. She could tell by Soul's sniffs of disdain that he wasn't close to being done with his lecture, so she pushed her chair back and made her way to the fridge.

It wasn't that he had been over _often, _but Maka couldn't deny how right it felt for him to be in her apartment. In fact, it never felt _strange_. It just felt like a part of her that was missing was there, a little late and different from what she had expected, but _there_. Though her heart was buzzing with a nervousness, and even a slight hesitation - it was a warmth she wasn't afraid of, a feeling she didn't want to fight.

"Want anything?" she called back to the white-haired man. Maka had gotten good at hiding the nervousness in her voice. Granted, it was easier whenever he initiated the conversation but, for her, starting it was _much, much _worse.

"What are you getting?"

"A Somersby," she responded, anticipating a rather sarcastic chiding that mostly had to do with her drink of choice.

"Then I'll have one too."

Maka snorted as she kicked open her fridge, the cans along the side rattling as she pulled one of the tallboys from the side. "Since when do you drink ciders?" she teased as she pulled out an extra one.

"Since I found out they're _fucking delicious_," Soul said with a smirk as he looked up briefly to catch the can she tossed him. Without hesitation, he cracked his open and took a long sip. Maka narrowed her eyes as she popped open her own.

"At least finish studying before you start to drink," she chided. Soul raised his eyes challengingly, and though her stomach fluttered, she felt playful irritation prickling her spine as he very deliberately took another swig of his cider without breaking eye contact.

She couldn't help the stifled giggle from escaping her lips as he set down the can and returned to the pages. _Stubborn dick, _she thought as she strode past the dining table and towards the two couches that awaited her. Then his sniffing continued, she noted as she took another swig, the smile on the corner of her lip finally able to override her carefully constructed poker face.

It wasn't for another ten minutes, when she had gotten up to grab a second, did Soul join her, abandoning his textbook behind. She could hear his footsteps as he joined her by the fridge; feel his presence near the back of her neck as he leaned over to see what she was doing. "You're done?" she said into her fridge, highly suspicious and pretty sure he was nowhere close to finished.

"Yes."

She pulled her head out of the fridge, only to throw him an icy look.

He sighed. "Just give me the cider."

Maka snorted and handed him the can, to which he cracked open almost immediately. After finishing the first one, she had to admit that she already felt the slight fuzz of alcohol in her brain. But her brain was fine, if her mouth a little looser, as she walked to the couches and collapsed into one of them, him sitting beside her.

Their conversation started once more, and it wasn't long until her coffee table began to accumulate cans over the course of the night. And somehow, they ended up on the topic of how their school lives were when they were apart - a can of worms they hadn't managed to open. Even three months after their reunion, she hadn't realized how much they'd truly skirted around the issue.

She didn't realize how little she knew about him.

"- and I think that's when Liz calmed down, or rather, decided she didn't want to become _that_ kind of alpha bitch," Soul drawled, having finished his fourth can he had opted for water as an alternative.

It could've been the alcohol, but somehow the stories about the circle of friends she was slowly assimilating back into were very interesting. She wanted to know more; she wanted to know more than the story of how Blackstar nearly got into a fight with the more popular crowd before Liz had to step in. She wanted to know about the white-haired man before her, how he had mellowed from the slightly awkward, somewhat obnoxious prankster, to this, the sly, even _cool_, yet caring and _genuine _human he'd grown into. "What about you?" Maka asked quietly into the lip of her can.

She didn't miss it when Soul's smile faltered.

"Well, there _was _a girl named Britney…"

Maka snorted as his smile slid smoothly into a smirk. "She already sounds like a bitch."

Soul grimaced dramatically. "Yeah. _Man. _Sophomore year was a year full of mistakes."

"That's not very nice," she couldn't help but to say, though she couldn't keep the corners of her mouth from curving upwards as he scoffed before taking another swig of water.

"Yeah, but it's the truth. Holy _crap _did I regret those two months. Parents always houndin' me for not putting in enough practice, said I'd go nowhere." He set down his glass and threw his arm around the back of the couch. For some reason, the overly-familiar gesture didn't turn her off like she expected it would; it just seemed right. Inviting, even.

She leaned back and let her head rest against his forearm, his fingers begin to trace lazy circles into her tricep, and she missed the contented smile that spread across his lips. "So what did the bookworm get to experience in California?"

Maka sighed and balanced her can precariously on her sweatpants. She held out the palm of her left hand, striking a finger as she listed off, "Well, there was _Derek, _and Sam, and Carl-"

"_Carl_," he repeated incredulously.

She barked a laugh at his terse reaction. "I'm just kidding. Only one guy. Derek."

"At least that name isn't as offensive," Soul said half-jokingly, though his shoulders relaxed and the lazy grin returned to his face. "And?"

"And what?"

"How was he?" Maka smacked his arm as he wiggled his eyebrows.

"Shut up, it didn't go that far. It was like yours. Maybe two months?" She really didn't remember: after all it was such a fleeting moment, so insignificant now that she looked back on it. Derek - he was kind of a generic guy, she realized. He was nice, quiet, not too popular. Sure, he was handsome in his own right, but in a "_only at a second glance_" kind of way. He wasn't… eye catching. He wouldn't have made her head turn.

He didn't have white hair, red eyes, or a grin that could send shivers down her spine.

The only man who possessed those features chuckled, his fingers resuming their lazy caress against her arm. "Guess we don't have good luck in love."

_Don't think about the past. _

"Guess not," she echoed sadly.

And that was that.

It wasn't surprising that Soul had seen at least some other girls; after all, it wasn't as if she hadn't moved on.

But here, right beside him, where she was almost as close to him as the time in the library, it was almost ridiculous to think she could've ever liked anyone else. She leaned her head against his shoulder and his arm carefully shifted off the couch to wrap around her frame.

Their conversation was lazy once more, and Maka could feel herself slowly sobering up. The more awareness she regained, the more she was additionally aware of her fluttering heart that he could no doubt feel, if not hear. She didn't dare move, didn't dare betray her regaining sobriety if it meant a few more minutes, moments, even fleeting seconds where she could be this close to him without a good reason. The stiffness of his arm might have even fooled her into thinking that he felt the same way - that he didn't want to let her go, now that he finally got to hold her properly. It wasn't fleeting looks, meaningful smiles, or hesitant touches against her hair anymore. She was here, in his arms.

_Soulmate. _The word still echoed in her mind, even two months later.

Soul shifted slightly and Maka hadn't realized she had begun to doze off into his chest. She blinked languidly and tilted her head up, meeting his gentle gaze and his slight smile. "Hey," he whispered, the lilt of his voice husky yet soothing with his proximity.

"Hey," she responded groggily. Her head still throbbed as she lifted her gaze, her ear hollow from the absence of pressure. He lifted his arm as she pulled back, him rolling it once before he shook it off. "Sorry," Maka said, though she didn't feel sorry at all.

"Nah, don't worry about it," Soul dismissed as he stood up. "But I should go."

She didn't protest as he walked over to the table, his books and other supplies still strewn across it. He quietly swept the contents haphazardly back into his bag as Maka collected the cans, dropping them off into the recycling bin. "Thanks for having me over," Soul said rather mechanically as he slipped on his shoes.

"Anytime."

"Drink water."

"I will."

"No seriously. Don't get a hangover like last time, or you'll end up waking me up again and I'll show up at your door bright and early."

"Promise?" Maka murmured as she rubbed her eye. Soul let out a soft chuckle as he opened her door, stepping out into the cold December air.

"But I had a good time. We should do it again sometime."

Maka yawned, one hand lazing along the doorframe as she leaned against it, the chill, crisp temperatures causing her to shiver slightly. "Yeah," she responded groggily, her words tumbling out of her mouth before they even registered in her brain. "Like tomorrow or something."

She missed him brightening, another grin spreading across his lips. "I'll take you up on that."

"Ha ha ha," she said humourlessly until it dawned on her _exactly _what he said. "Wait, Soul, wha-"

"It's a date then," said Soul as he gave her an earnest grin before disappearing down the stairs, only leaving Maka - still somewhat dazed, if not a little drunk - gaping in his wake.


	5. Chapter 5

She waited in the cold December air, her eyes darting back and forth, the streetcars nothing but a blur as the morning sun cast a warm glow against the glistening, white snow. Twiddling her thumbs, breathing out puffs of grey and white, she pulled her hat over her ears, warm wool blocking the cold wisps that otherwise tickled her skin.

It wasn't that hewas late, it was that Maka was too excited, or rather, had been too worked up to arrive at any time that wasn't a good fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. Still, as she waited for him in the cold, a strange nervousness crept up her throat. As if she hadn't spent the last three months with him, as if she hadn't allowed him back into her life, as if she hadn't been made aware, painfully aware, that she had fallen for him all over again.

It was a nervousness that beat against her chest, like a caged hummingbird desperately flitting about within. And with every passing minute, she only grew more anxious. Hell, she didn't even know _why_. She had gone on dates with far more distant a person. So why, why did she feel so restless, so scared, so excited? Why did she feel a weight in her stomach, pushing her down into the ground as if she was unable to resist a certain gravity?

She didn't know.

_She didn't know_.

Maka swallowed thickly, blonde hair hitting each cheek as she shook her head, not quite managing to dislodge the literal discomfort she felt. _Just calm down, _she thought, allowing it to become a mantra as she closed her eyes.

Maka soon heard the shuffle of footsteps, and felt slightly ashamed to know that she could distinguish who it was just by the rhythm of his shoes alone. It was easy to picture it all: his white hair, his coy smirk, his red eyes - she didn't have to open her eyes to see them.

But she did, anyway.

And he was smirking, as she expected, the quirk in his mouth both mischievous and charming. "You're early," he drawled, his voice warm - almost tangibly so, in the chilly winter morning.

Maka, despite the sudden nervousness that tickled her throat, swallowed through it and smiled. "As are you."

His smirk became a grin and he gave a quick shrug. "Can't have you waiting, though I see you already have."

"Not long," Maka lied, and she knew he wasn't deceived. His eyebrow raised, taking in the way her knees were beginning to knock together, the way her breaths were even more opaque puffs of white smoke.

His eyes zeroed in on her cheeks, and with his gaze, she was suddenly made aware of the numbing cold on her face. Wordlessly, Soul raised a hand and slid the glove from his fingers. Maka's eyes widened in surprise when she felt the back of his knuckles stroke her skin.

It took more effort than expected to stop herself from leaning into his touch.

Soul frowned. "You're freezing."

Maka gave a helpless smile. He rolled his eyes and pulled off his other glove, handing them to her. "Put these on," he said, more of a command than an offer. Before she could even open her mouth, Soul spun on his heel and began to lead the way down the street. Though she huffed, grimaced, and sighed, she followed after him. He walked just a touch ahead, his pointedly-turned back his only response to her complaints.

She sighed and slid on the gloves one by one. It didn't surprise her in the slightest that the tips dangled awkwardly off her fingertips; she already had smaller than average hands. His own, she had noticed, were long - dextrous. During one of their many conversations, she had learned that he'd taken up piano. Rather, he played piano "more than before", as he had put it, though the frown on his face was a clear indicator of how _he _felt on the subject.

Observing his hands now, Maka couldn't help but think that he definitely wasn't playing "more than before"; each of his digits were slim and elongated. Hands of a musician, she mused. They seemed soft too: not a single callous on his tanned skin, each knuckle primed and each nail clipped. He had to keep them consistently short, as she remembered him commenting after she had teased him of being more meticulous about his nails than a girl. She remembered how he'd shrugged and rolled his eyes, a small smile settling on his lips as Maka barked with laughter.

"Are you gonna lag behind all day?" She straightened at the sound of his voice, the speaker standing just a few steps ahead with a similar smile spread across his face.

She took three large strides to catch up to him, the several inches he had over her no longer phasing. His eyes were just a small head-tilt away, his hair definitely a stretch further, though she paid no mind as she gave him a fairly brisk chop to the head. "Just because you have longer legs…"

He smirked and gave her an obvious one over. "Lucky me then." And though she struck his head again, she couldn't help the giddy smile that played on her lips.

* * *

They ducked under the bus shelter, laughing as they shook snow out of their hair. Soul gave a violent shake, heaps of snow suddenly falling loose as Maka squealed and danced around the raining wetness. She felt a clump of snow land on her shirt, and as she brushed it away with his gloves, he gave an undisguised snort. "Yeah yeah," she muttered, before smearing the back of her hand against his cheek.

Just as Soul moved to retaliate, the bus pulled into the stop, slush and snow spraying up as it skidded to a halt. Maka dodged around Soul's outstretched hand, ducking into the vehicle as the doors slid open. She flashed the bus driver a somewhat apologetic smile as she dug into her pocket for change. As her hand groped around, she could hear Soul step onto the bus, feel his presence as he pressed up against her before his hand brushed her shoulder. "Wha-", she started, but he plopped enough change to cover both their rides, and soon they were on their way.

"You didn't have to pay for me," Maka called as the man in question slunked around her. _Typical_, she thought bitterly when he ignored her, following him down the bus aisle with a sigh. She sat down on the edge of a seat next to Soul, who hovered almost protectively over her. "So where are we going?"

His eyes were thoughtful, though he merely shrugged. "Movie, dinner, that kind of thing?"

"You're joking."

"How so?"

"You don't seem the type."

The corner of his mouth twitched and he ducked his head closer to her own. "You seem confident in your answer."

Because she knows him, Maka thought with confidence. Though, as he eased his mouth into yet another smirk, she couldn't help but wonder how much of this Soul she still had yet to figure out. In the last three months - three short, fleeting months - she felt like she was _finally_ able to let go of the Soul she'd once known and accept the man he'd become.

Able to let go of the memory of him and begin anew once more.

However, as fate would have it, she would never be able to forget so easily.

* * *

Streets blurred by in a flurry of white and muted colour, crowds of city folk bundled in thick woolly jackets merging and blending into the background as if part of a painting, a background mural in her life. Maka could vaguely make out her reflection, and if she concentrated hard enough, Soul's, as he stared off beyond her, appearing lost in thought.

Though she was unfamiliar with this particular bus route, she didn't miss the fact that they were headed towards where she'd grown up - towards her father's house, her father who'd continued to live there, as if in a vain hope that his wife or daughter would return.

A flash of light caught her attention, a phone glowing dimly in Soul's hand. His lips were curled into a displeased frown, but before she could question it, the screen went blank and he lifted his head, eyes already unfocused as he looked off into the distance.

She was curious, very curious, but she let it drop.

Provided everything went well, there would be time to talk about it later.

She must've zoned out, for a few moments later he was tapping her shoulder. "We're getting off." Her eyebrow rose as they pulled into the next stop, a familiar park on the other side of the high fence.

There was no movie theatre around here, Maka realized, and this location was _very _close to her old home. "We're at Grigori Park," she deadpanned. He only grinned at her tone, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he hooked her wrist into his fingers and pulled her to her feet.

"And we're getting off," he repeated, ignoring her incredulity as he nudged her towards the bus doors. With a reluctant and somewhat suspicious glare, Maka hopped off, turning around and watching as Soul did the same.

"So I'm guessing there _is _no movie," she murmured as she watched him shove his gloveless hands into his pockets. Maka snorted and shuffled behind him. She couldn't help but wonder what _exactly _he was up to, or where they were going.

Of all people, amongst the last she expected to run into was Liz.

A smile already stretched on her lips, the blonde stood up from the park bench to greet them. She couldn't help but remember the Liz of the past, the girl who'd donned a cowboy hat that cast a menacing shadow over her eyes. She'd always had an intimidating aura, with a gruff voice and an even gruffer expression. At one time it had lead Maka to believe that the taller woman had faced tough trials in her life, perhaps too many to recover from. There had always been a certain unapproachable air about Liz, even though the two had shared their moments of rare yet pleasant conversation.

Maka reminded herself that Liz had changed from the elusive person she'd known, for the girl in question had her arms were open wide as she bounded forward. Yet, Maka couldn't help but be intimidated, most likely owing to the fact that Liz's _extreme enthusiasm _was one that she instinctively felt should be avoided. "Maka, Soul, you're just in time! I'm glad you guys made it out!"

Maka blinked and Soul frowned.

"Of course we would," he said, though his voice was hesitant, even a little bemused. Liz's grin widened ever-so-slightly.

"Perfect. You're already registered, so here's the first clue!"

"Clue?" Maka repeated as Liz handed her a small envelope.

She nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah. You're going on a scavenger hunt, 'Amazing Race' kind of thing." Maka shot Soul a glance, who merely shrugged. She could feel third party eyes on her, and it was only when Liz sighed and patted her shoulder, taking some snow off with it, did the shorter blonde start. "It'll be fun," said the older Thompson bracingly, "and you have until seven pm. I'll tell _everyone_ that your group has left, okay?"

Soul opened his mouth as if to say something, but she merely saluted, winked, and ran off. He sighed.

Maka tore open the envelope, sliding the small, folded sheet of paper out. "What does it say?" Soul said, his voice slightly skeptical as she smoothed it against the fabric of her pants.

Scrawled handwriting took up most of the page, she noted, as she read, "_Three blocks east, two blocks north. Fancy some lunch?_" she snorted. "It's 11 am."

"Never too early for burgers," Soul mused. At her questioning look, he gave a half grin. "Come on, Death City Patties?" At her blank stare, his smile faltered. But she shrugged.

"Come on, we're gonna fall behind," she said, and with that, she was off. He followed her brisk pace with ease, his presence beside her calming and natural.

"I can't believe you haven't had Death City Patties before," he said conversationally as Maka marched on. She shrugged - her family hadn't been one to eat out often, mostly because of their work schedules.

As time wore on, her family had drifted further apart, always missing each other on the way out. It took her several months to figure out the nature behind the growing separation; the friction that had begun to split apart her parent's seemingly unhappy marriage. She remembered the final months leading to the divorce - the yelling and the frustrated groaning as her Mama and Papa would clash, their voices escalating as she slipped out of the door and walked to school.

His voice brought her back, quiet and closer to her ear than she'd expected. "This place is the best," he murmured, stopping at the crosswalk to gaze at the diner across the street. She followed his gaze, saw the old restaurant in all its glory, but it didn't register in her mind; instead she remembered snatches of conversation, the yelling she eventually contributed to, the tiredness in her limbs when she'd trudge to the library on the afternoons her parents had off together, trying to pray away the time with the flips of pages and the ticks of the clock.

She found herself responding mechanically, her voice flat and disinterested. "I know," her voice said, but her mind did not, "you used to talk about it a lot."

She missed his look of surprise, the faint reddening of his cheeks beyond the natural flush from the cold, the way his mouth parted questioningly before the light changed and she had stepped out onto the street.

Maka's eyes misted over as she looked up at the sign, rubbing her gloved hands along her arms, as Soul ducked inside. Further, little snippets surfaced from the depths of her memory: the angry slamming of doors, the exact night when her Papa began to sleep on the couch, the vague yelling she could hear from her room, even with her headphones on as she attempted to study.

Soul reappeared then, his black beanie falling into his eyes as he shivered and clutched the envelope in one hand and its contents in the other. He shook the letter out, his breath leaving his lips in puffs as he read the next note aloud. "_Four blocks south, two blocks west, toward the Resonance_."

It took a little more than a bit of effort to pull her mind from the deeper waters of her brain, especially since Soul waited for her to move first. It wasn't until he said lowly, "You know, that's the library, right?" that she perked up.

"The library at Sunnyside and Lunar Street?" He smirked and her eyes widened. Memories flashed before her, like an old, black and white film slowly screening before her eyes: she remembered flashes, scenes, of the long nights she spent in those rows of books, immersing herself in anything that wasn't yelling, screaming, or annoying children who happened to be the same age as her-from the same school, even.

Granted, it didn't take long for one of those annoying children to find her in the library. For him to join her. For him to integrate himself into her life, as unwilling as she was initially, until just the thought of her childhood sanctuary was always accompanied by _him_, his presence, his familiarity, his smell, _everything _him.

Even now, as his fingers grasped her wrist once more, thoughts of him flooded her mind, erasing the images of the library, overtaking the lingering sensations of its familiarity, ridding herself of anything and everything until it was just Soul.

Soul, whose grin almost masked the faint tint of his cheeks as he pulled her out of her thoughts both metaphorically and literally. It was then Maka found her excitement, a dull roar at the base of her stomach, as she slipped her hand out of his clutches and ran ahead, exhilaration colouring her laughter as she whirled around, teasing words on her tongue as she urged him to run faster.

* * *

She missed the smell of cedar and old books, the cleanliness of the shelves, the lingering lulls of conversations absorbed and muted by the padding of literature that lined the walls. She missed the comfortable couches and sofa chairs that dotted the premise, squashy beanbags and colourful rugs occupying the spacious areas. This was her sanctuary, the sofa her throne and the books her court, a place where none, or a very select few, were allowed.

It took her a moment, perhaps two, for Maka to realize Soul was watching her with an amused expression. Before she could question it, he looked down evasively and shrugged off his coat. Maka mirrored his movements, peeling off each glove and carefully stowing them in her coat pocket before folding the material into her arms. "So where would this clue be?" she wondered, mostly to herself, though she knew Soul was listening.

And as she expected, he responded. "'Dunno, you're the one who stayed here twenty-four seven."

It was true after all, but she could have very well argued the fact that _he _had ended up spending just as much time here as she did.

She scoffed playfully instead, retorting, "I can't be an honours student without hard work. My nose in the books and all that."

He looked as if he knew she wasn't telling the entire truth, as if he wanted to say something, but before he could voice his thoughts, his expression slid to a frown and his hand dug into one of his pants pocket. She heard an odd ringtone as he pulled out his phone, loud in the quiet room. His expression turned dark. "I have to take this, sorry," he said mutedly, and before Maka could protest, he whisked out the door, phone up to his ear, a rather irritable '_what' _blowing past his lips.

Maka sighed. Well, there went her _partner_.

As she waited, Maka resisted the temptation to revisit her old haunts within the building. To run her finger along the familiar and memorized spines, to collapse in the seats she had spent hours in, pouring over books, listening to music, doing anything that _wasn't _being at home in the middle of the crossfire.

Her competitive side fought her sentimental one. Her eyes tore away from the inviting and familiar scenes to scan around for a green envelope like the one that had held the last two clues. It didn't take long to spot, sitting as it was in plain sight on the edge of the welcome desk. Beside it lay a head of pink hair she was surprised to only notice it now.

As Maka walked over, Kim looked up and gave her a small upturn of her lips. She reached over and picked up the envelope, waving it once in her hands. "Looking for this?"

"Thanks," Maka murmured as she took it. "What are you doing here?"

The girl from behind the counter shrugged. "There's nothing wrong with books."

Kim Diehl - the only real memory she had of the girl was that she was a bully. Maka didn't know her personally, of course, seeing as her and her shocking pink hair hadn't been in her class. She'd only heard rumours of the girl's personality, and they all weren't very nice things.

It was one of the last sights she'd expected, truth be told. As much as Maka didn't want to admit it, somehow the girl looked like she belonged behind the desk, amongst the books. Perhaps age _did _make a difference, seeing as she never took Kim to be one to look at ease in a library. Kim waited patiently as Maka swallowed. "Can't say you're one that I thought would want to work here."

A chuckle escaped Kim's lips. "I _hated _books when I was in middle school, so you're not wrong." She gave a melancholy smile. "But I found out some interesting stuff about my ancestry that got me reading…. funny how that changes people, doesn't it?" She drummed the wooden desk in anticipation, the rhythm much simpler than any Soul had ever beat out, Maka noticed. "Anyways, I won't keep you for much longer. Tell Soul I say hi!"

It only occured to Maka, as she left the building, that she never once mentioned being with Soul on that particular day. While Kim might've seen Soul when he first walked in, the well-used book she'd carefully bookmarked and set aside by her hand was probably the reason Kim didn't call them over in the first place. Not that it mattered much, or even at all, as she turned the corner and back toward the street.

Maka didn't have to look far to find her partner, who had made himself comfortable on the edge of a brick landscape planter. His mouth curved into a small smile when he saw her, and Maka made sure to wave the envelope in her hand enthusiastically. but the sentiment never reached his eyes. His jaw was too tight, his posture too stiff.

"What took you so long?" His voice was dull, worn, and if she weren't so excited she might've noted the lines that creased his forehead.

"I ran into Kim," she said. "It's crazy how much a person can change in eight years."

Maka opened the envelope and slid the neatly-folded paper out of the pocket, missing the flash of pain that shot through Soul's eyes as he pursed his lips wordlessly. She smoothed the paper against her pants.

"_Take to the ivory of Long and McQuade_," she read, her voice trailing off. "Where is that?"

"It's a music store," Soul supplied almost automatically. Just by the tone of his voice, she could tell that there was something off. Something within Soul had shifted - she could feel it. And yet, even if she were to question him now, she knew he would never tell her.

And it was frustrating as all hell.

Maka remembered, when they'd first reconnected, how he'd never answer her questions. He'd merely deflect them back to her, skirting around each issue and playing it off as if it were nothing. The only thing he seemed interested in was her, and not himself. Why couldn't he confide to her? Why couldn't he trust her?

The questions lingered, like a dark, unwanted shadow over her consciousness, and the only way to stop herself from asking the questions that had been waiting on the tip of her tongue for the past three months was to channel the energy into something else.

So she let her fingers wrap around his wrist once more, glad when he didn't utter a single complaint as she began to drag him down the road. His strange subduedness only added to her growing hurt and doubt.

* * *

"We're going the wrong way," Soul said quietly. It was the first time he'd spoken to her in a while. Maka paused; she was used to taking the reins, leading them around the older parts of Death City where she'd grown up. Of course, Soul would know where to go better than she did, after all, she had never gone close to the store marked as their next location.

_Long and McQuade. _A shop she hadn't even know existed before today. Then again, it was probably one of those stores that only a very _certain _demographic would know about. That demographic, evidently, included Soul.

So she took a half step back and let him overtake her, a ghost of a smirk on his face as his hand slid into hers without missing a single beat. Maka didn't mind the warmth that shot up her cold palms, nor the rest of the heat that spiked onto her face and warmed her. It was calming in a way, almost too perfect.

He led her around the block, further away from any of the areas that reminded her vaguely of her childhood. Although it wasn't seedy, suspicious, or anything of the sort,Maka knew it was one of those locations that she would never have ventured to on her own.

The bright yellow sign of the store only loomed closer; Maka could see it from where she was standing, though it was still a good three blocks away. Excitement fluttered at the base of her stomach - where would their next location be? Soul, however, kept their deliberate pace. Normally, she wouldn't complain, but she just wanted to _go _already.

Soul stopped suddenly, she nearly bumped into him.

His hand, which had been so recently holding hers, reached into his pocket and he pulled out his phone. It buzzed in his palm, a muted tone feebly coming from within. Maka tore her gaze from the music shop to study his face. He was frowning.

His finger tapped the red button, canceling the call. The buzzing cut off at once.

"Who was that?" she asked.

"Blackstar," he replied shortly.

She could hear in his voice that even he didn't expect her to believe him.

But he said nothing more as he continued on their way, their pace decidedly brisk in contrast to his previous leisurely pace. She said nothing as she felt herself being pulled along, her thoughts still running in her head, trying to understand exactly _what _it was that he was trying to hide.

It wasn't another girl, that was for sure.

So then… who?

As Maka peered at the back of his neck, she wondered if he'd ever trust her enough to say.

* * *

The store was unlike anything she'd ever seen.

In one corner, nearly two dozen guitars hung against the wall, all in various sizes, colours and shapes. Stacked along the opposite side were rows and rows of books, only she wasn't used to these genres in particular. She definitely didn't have the musical knowledge for_those_ texts. Beside the stacks, which were carefully organized by instrument, was a door leading to another room. The large, colourful sign that hung above indicated that it was the section for vocal scores.

She tried to comprehend the various registers and help desks that lay scattered around. It was like she had entered a whole new world, and yet Soul seemed to fit right in, striding past her and weaving through the aisles with a certain grace she didn't know he possessed.

He made his way to a back section of the store, where glass panels separated the atrium of the space into a smaller, tightly packed room. As Maka approached on her own, she realized the black boxes were, in actuality, keyboards, lined up in such a way that each was accessible and playable. She looked down at the paper in her hands, and suddenly the whole "ivory" bit made sense.

Upon stepping inside to join Soul, she realized that there was one other person there with them. Of all people, Patricia bounded forward, a familiar green envelope in her hands as she greeted them. "I didn't know you were here," Soul said, his guarded tone a stark contrast to her enthusiastic one.

She merely giggled impishly before spinning once in a circle, arms splayed outwards, stopping on her heels. "I have your next clue!" But when Soul reached for it, she leapt away. Maka, personally, was more astounded that she didn't collide hip-first into one of the pianos cluttering the room.

"Not so fast, sissy told me not to give this to you until you play."

Silence.

She'd never seen Soul like this before; a sudden shift in attitude, he shrunk back, eyes weary and his jaw clenched. No longer were his expression or posture friendly, cool, even mischievous, as it often was with Patricia. Instead he seemed sour, tense, even repulsed by the idea.

Patricia, oblivious, merely hummed as she rocked on her feet.

"No."

His voice was low, cold, steeled with an air of finality, making him seem older than he was.

It was a voice Maka had never heard before.

She didn't think Soul could possess such coldness, not when all he'd ever shown her was warmth.

She didn't know this Soul, the one who eyed the pianos wearily, suddenly tense and defensive in a room full of the very instruments that he'd avoided talking about.

Perhaps if he played, if he let her in, maybe she could understand.

There was so much she still didn't know about him, and it just wasn't _fair_. "I want to hear you play it."

"No, you don't." His voice was icy, clipped, somehow further from her than it had ever been. It was a tone she couldn't remember hearing from him before, even when he was younger. Sure, he would tease, and was at times standoffish, but he was never _cold. _Yet here he was, his red eyes steely as he frowned.

And all it managed to do was remind Maka of how she had never yet heard him play.

"You need to play it! Sissy _said _or I'm not allowed to give you this envelope!" The younger Thompson dangled the folded paper, her cheeks rosy and her tongue out, as Soul made to snatch it from her clutches. Only after her cackling laughter and his frazzled sigh, did he finally relent.

"_Fine._" His tone was sour, more broody than usual - but, Maka noted, it wasn't surprising. After he'd received that phone call, his smile hadn't seemed quite right. Instead, he was tight lipped, now even more so as his frown settled deep into his face. His grimace only worsened as he gave the room a once over. Several pianos laid about in the room, ranging from the electric variety to ones she'd imagine in a concert hall, but his eyes settled on a room behind a closed door.

Fingers snaked around her wrist and Maka soon found herself being dragged forwards, Soul wordless as he brought her over to the practice room. "You're not allowed," he growled behind him, stopping the younger Thompson in her tracks. Maka braced for the predictable reaction, that is, an explosion of temper that she had associated with Patricia in her youth, but the blonde in question only gave a wide smile before offering them both a quick half salute. Before Maka had a chance to question it, Soul wrenched the door open and dragged her inside.

It was cramped, just enough room for the lone piano to be played and maybe one other person to stand. Maka occupied the small space, folding her arms as Soul pulled out the bench, sitting down in one, fluid, practiced motion. With a flourish of his fingers, like a pianist flicking back the cuffs of his sleeves, Soul paused, perched over the ivory keys, his expression unreadable. His lips parted and his eyes narrowed, a deep breath drawing in through his nostrils.

Then he pressed down, hard, the clash of the chords ringing in Maka's ears. It was scary, loud, intimidating and yet, as he lifted his hands and the sound reverberated in her head, somehow beautiful.

He didn't acknowledge her, didn't even turn as she shifted her weight from one foot to another. His fingers instead danced along the keys, each stroke so fast she couldn't see him move. The only proof of his playing was the sound, the rich textures of music that Maka couldn't understand.

But as he played, as the melody he wove floated into her ears, she couldn't help but stare at him in fascination. His slouch only heightened as he sunk into his music, both literally and metaphorically. His lip began to curl as his fingers lifted, before slamming down once more, the impact frightening. It should've made her jump but she _didn't; _instead she stood, transfixed, as the chords began anew.

He was like a different person, she realized, as he played. She didn't understand why but she suddenly felt like an outsider. Within this tiny room, within this space where Soul scooted closer to the keys and she could hardly raise an arm, she almost found it amusing. Hardly had she ever felt so disconnected, so _far away_, from a person when, if she were to reach out with one hand, she could touch his shoulder.

As he played music that she couldn't understand, Maka knew that Soul was meant to be somewhere bigger. His fingers glided over the keys, so fast they began to blur. Soul's face was a perfect mask of concentration and he frowned more deeply, the music growing frantic as notes began to lash out, like bullets flying from a gun, ricocheting off the padded walls and embedding themselves into her ears.

She wasn't a huge believer in fate, but in this instant, she knew this was where he belonged.

All the while, as he played so extraordinarily for her, she _still_ couldn't understand.

The music wove complex beats and melodies that were disjointed, loud, and jarring, and while she felt like she _should _be able to understand it, she couldn't.

His eyes were dark and he almost seemed to be in physical pain. She knew music and him well enough to know that he was _reaching out _to her.

But she couldn't understand.

His fingers slammed down on the keys once more, the produced notes mixing with the hollowing ringing in her ears. The sound of her clapping joined the odd soundscape of nothingness as he stared back, chest heaving, his lips tight and his eyes, to her discomfort, still guarded.

She thought she knew Soul, she thought she knew the Soul she'd fallen in love with.

She also had a sneaking suspicion that _this _was the Soul that even he didn't want anyone to ever know about.

The stupid irony of it all, was that he was barely a foot away from her, just on the other side of the wooden door, just an arm's length away if she wanted it to be.

He didn't acknowledge her. He said nothing as he stood up abruptly and wrenched open the door, disappearing behind it.

* * *

He was oddly silent, even after Patricia handed over their next envelope and they ducked out of the shop. She had so many questions, to the point that she was buzzing with them, but his downcast eyes and deep set frown stemmed her voice.

It was only after a few unbearable moments of silence that Maka finally broke the odd tension.

She looked back, and it was like she saw a completely different man, the feeling a strange prickling against her spine that only grew over the course of today. At the same time, he was also a different man from the one who'd played piano. Whose fingers flew expertly over the keys, who, if she didn't know better, belonged on the bench, clad in a pinstripe suit, as he played concertos and sonatas for big audiences.

So the question was, why?

Why wasn't he already doing that?

And as much as she wanted to ask him, this was another, entirely new Soul that she'd never met. A Soul who looked completely and utterly unlike himself - that is, on edge, irritable, even a little saddened. He was good at hiding it; he wasn't slouching, nor was his face anything expressively sad, but it was his too-upright posture, his too-focused gaze, his too-forced pokerface, that exposed all his lies to her.

"Soul," Maka began, but before she could get another word out, she felt the word catch in her throat, unable to escape. She watched his eyes widen and dilate.

"I-" he cut himself off, suddenly looking unsure. And she couldn't stop the hurt that suddenly welled up, the annoyance and vulnerability that he knew that _she knew _that he couldn't- just couldn't- tell her.

If they hadn't met before, she would've understood. If they hadn't spent the last three months together, she would've understood. If she couldn't see, pinpoint, and analyze every quirk of his features as if they were her own, she would've understood.

But they _had _met before, they _had _spent the last three months together, and she _could _see every emotion cross his face, and this time, it was full of insecurity, fear, and a pain she could relate to. The same pain she had _always _been able to relate to, but could never put a finger on_. _

Soul's eyes finally met hers and his face began to relax. His frown turned into a small, apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry," Soul said, his voice quiet, almost lost in her ears. She listened intently anyway, catching every syllable with care. "I.. I can't tell you."

The words cut into her like a knife, suspicion and hurt welling from the wounds. What did he mean? _What _couldn't he tell her? Could he not trust her? Was she not worth telling?

His eyes widened. "It's nothing like that," he whispered, but it fell upon deaf ears. It wasn't until his fingers curled around hers, holding her fists tightly, did she realize her anxiety. She swallowed and met his gaze.

"I'll tell you Maka, I promise," he said solemnly, his voice quiet and low. Just with a fleeting glance, she knew he wasn't lying, and that was reassuring to her. He bowed his head. "Just not now. I can't right now."

She glanced down at their hands, his unguarded over hers, his bare skin against the gloves that should've been worn on his hands. Maka slid her fingers from his grasp, instead putting his hands within her own.

"I believe you."

The warmth, the gratitude, the _trust _in his eyes told her more than words ever could.

* * *

Even though she feigned innocence, Maka already knew where they were headed. Soul lagged behind, lost in thought, though when their eyes caught, he'd offer the smallest upturn of his lip.

It was a smile she couldn't quite crack, and she wouldn't admit in a million years how much it bothered her.

She paused to wait for him, bouncing on her toes to keep warm. Despite the too big gloves she wore, it was cold without his hand. He took a couple of larger strides when he noticed her waiting; he stood tall above her once he finally caught up. Soul was silent as he watched her, the same phantom smile still lingering on his lips.

"So where are we headed?" he asked her.

"You tell me," Maka responded. He chuckled, though the humour didn't reach his eyes.

Lodged at the edge of the gate around the school building, was another green envelope, this time awaiting them in a ziplock bag. Snow had gathered since they'd set off on this date-turned-goose-chase and was floating down gently from the sky. Maka brushed the white flakes off the plastic and opened the letter with gloved fingers.

As she grasped the contents within, Maka paused. Standing here, right now, with the cold being all too familiar in a scenario she'd seen in her dreams, she realized then just exactly how surreal this moment was.

Her breath was short and she felt her palms sweat within her gloves; she never thought just being in the presence of her elementary school would cause such internal turmoil within her. It was scary, it was daunting, it was too much - the building held her childhood, the summation of her adolescence, and a stark reminder of what she'd left behind.

Soul's breathing was light in her ear, even and deep. It didn't seem like the school had nearly the same effect on him than it did on _her_.

She pushed the intrusive thoughts, the swirling emotions, the erratic beating of her heart, as far back into her mind as she could. She had done so well - she had gotten so far without thinking of Soul and how much pain she had once felt.

It was all too much.

And yet, when she turned to him, his eyes were clouded and distant.

He wasn't with her, not then, and not now.

No, he was somewhere else, his slouch somehow different. No longer was the posture merely lazy, but more defensive, as he curled into himself. As though he was shielding his spirit from her scrutiny. His lips, normally full and soft, were tight, partially obscured as he chewed them. His expression, normally bright and _aware_, was thoughtful, if not dark, and disconnected.

She knew him.

She knew Soul, now, the one who'd been orbiting her life for the past three months. She knew the Soul who'd seen her once, outside of her building, before he was whisked away before her eyes.

She knew the Soul who'd found her at the bonfire party, chatted her up, then took her out to a nearby cafe as she tried to sober up.

She knew the Soul who'd invited her to fireworks, stayed in her company because she didn't know anyone else, let her take his jacket on the way home.

She knew the Soul who'd come over on Friday nights, holding bags of chinese as he'd burst through the doors. Who drank Somersbys despite having said that they were too girly, who let her fall asleep on his chest, stroking her hair, murmuring into her ear as she lulled to sleep.

But she didn't know all of him.

And that fact was only made painfully clear when Maka couldn't read him, him - who she never had trouble reading before.

So she gave him a quick nudge and he started, visibly, looking down apologetically, hands stuffed into his pockets. Maka pulled out the last clue, unfolding the paper with trembling hands that weren't shivering from the cold.

"Two blocks south. three blocks east, and to the bridge," she read, and though Soul gave a little 'oh' of surprise, Maka crushed the paper into her fist. "This is it, Soul!" she said cheerily, letting excitement colour her voice. Truth be told, she didn't feel it in her heart. He said nothing as she slid her hands into his and interlaced their fingers.

He squeezed once.

Her heart pounded languidly.

* * *

Maka lost herself in the game. Soul was, once again, quiet as they walked, their conversation easy but weightless - both avoiding the topics they knew they should address. It could wait. All of it could wait.

Still, there was something in her stomach, something nagging at her, though she didn't know what.

It could wait, she told herself again. Tried to make herself believe it.

And so she counted the second block she passed, to the east; keeping her strides consistent - a beat she could concentrate on and forget everything else. The sounds of rush hour traffic flooded her ears, the shuffling of Soul's feet somehow augmented over the ambient noise. As they approached the third block, she spotted the bridge as detailed in her clue.

Excitement welled up within Maka and her pace quickened, his feet following. As she cleared the buildings the view opened up until she could finally see past the beige buildings and over the railings of the canal.

Her heart froze.

The clock was here.

Her mind filled with images, like a tidal wave of memories that didn't belong to her. This was it: the clock where they agreed to meet under; the clock where he'd waited on a cold night, the clock she never made it to.

Maka whirled around, her mouth open and brimming with words she hadn't picked, hadn't realized were forming on her tongue, hadn't any control for her mind was abuzz with many questions to which she never received answers.

But he was there, a small smile on his face, like a child who'd been caught doing something naughty. His eyes flitted to the clock above her once then settled back on her. The warmth had finally returned to his eyes.

"Looks like you made it after all," he teased.

Her smile faltered, eyes widening when they met his. Warm. Smouldering. Flickers of memories almost distinguishable in his eyes. It all came rushing to her, the weight of memories revisited, growing and accumulating, only to now come crashing down, wave after wave, from within those melancholy red eyes.

Her heart stopped as he took a step towards her, and for the first time in a few short hours, he finally seemed to belong to _her_. It was like she was all he saw, all he heard, all he _felt. _The thought alone caused sparks to tingle down her spine, leaving hot trails despite the biting cold.

"I guess I did," she breathed.

His small, hesitant smile suddenly widened, his face alight with a youthfulness that she had almost forgotten he possessed. It was like in that moment, he was twelve again. Standing under the clock. Checking his watch. Waiting for her.

He took a step forward.

She looked up, just a half-tilt of her eyes to truly meet his own.

He leaned in.


	6. Chapter 6

She opened her eyes.

Maka slid out of bed, feet fitting into her fuzzy slippers as she rubbed her eyes and stood upright. There was light peeking from behind her curtains. With one languid push, she drew them back, the morning sun warm against her skin despite the biting February air that lay beyond the glass panes.

Winter in the desert wasn't something Maka would've said she was used to; the brutal cold wasn't anticipated. It didn't bother her much though, seeing as the past three months with Soul Evans had been, metaphorically speaking, some of the _warmest._ Spending Christmas at Tsubaki's, surrounded by not-quite new friends, exchanging gifts, sneaking kisses in the hallway - she hadn't thought it would become such a regular thing. But when they'd come back into the room, faces flushed and hands entwined, Liz would catcall and Patti would guffaw, Kim would stick out her tongue and Tsubaki would wear her small knowing smile. That would be it, they'd sit down (Soul would also tell Blackstar to _shut it_), and all would be right with the world.

A quick shower later and she was out the door, pulling on his leather jacket and beanie, the lock clicking shut behind her. They'd planned to meet up for lunch and go on a date - he'd promised, since that early December evening, that their _dates_ wouldn't be scavenger hunts set up by overly zealous friends. The small speck of doubt she'd harboured at his words had since dissipated during their three months of steady dating. He'd upheld his promise, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

The last thing she expected to hear as she approached his door were voices raised in anger.

Her hand, already balled into a fist and poised to knock, hesitated. After a moment, Maka lowered her arm slowly, trying not to hear the venom-coated words from the townhouse door. But with each explosive syllable, the words permeated through the wood and, as much as she tried to tune out, she could hear every letter.

"_I'm not going to - you said - you promised-" _

"_\- We did not promise you anything, it's been two years and nothing has changed -" _

"_\- What do you know? It's not like you've been checking, or, you know, bothering to be real parents -" _

"_\- Young man, don't you dare speak to your parents like that - where are you going -" _

"Out." His voice, marred by the raggedness of yelling, was louder with its growing proximity. The door suddenly slammed open and he appeared at the doorway. For the briefest of seconds, their eyes locked - in those red depths she saw his anger, but also something else she couldn't quite place. An emotion she'd never before seen cross his features. Betrayal? Heartbreak? Intense loathing?

Following those fleeting moments, _he _was the one who tore his gaze away, breaking the contact before she could even begin to question it. With his pointed turn, something within her reacted. It was all she needed, to be able to understand exactly what was on his mind - but she couldn't discern anything beyond that. There was no explanation to be had, no further words spoken as he kicked the door behind him shut, cutting off the indignant screech of his name with it.

Her mind was reeling. The yelling was something she was all too familiar with, but his stoic silence? That was new to her, and something about it reminded her of the past- of the carefully constructed silence in which he stewed his anger in.

Things were _different _now. Though it'd been three months of palpable bliss, she'd never seen this sort of violent reaction from him. But she was _here_, she was _here _to help and though he'd gone as far as acknowledge her, he wasn't saying anything.

And it frustrated her.

"Soul."

He said nothing as he stalked past her, his feet racing down the steps of the porch to his townhouse.

"Soul."

He kicked the stand of his motorcycle, ripping the helmet off his ride with such violence that the entire machine _shook_. With a snap, the helmet was over his head; just like that, he was closing himself off from her once more.

"Soul, _damn it, _don't pretend like I'm not here!"

He looked up then, and his face was, to her discomfort, eerily blank. He regarded her briefly, before emotion flooded his eyes and they were suddenly familiar -warm, once again. But as much as she found comfort in the affectionate gaze, she still felt cold creeping up her spine. He was going to do it; he was going to push her away again.

Soul inhaled deeply then, and she could see the ligaments in his neck flex, the way his collar bones protruded when he breathed, the way his Adam's Apple raised but didn't quite fall until he swallowed thickly. He reached behind his bike before tossing the object to her. She caught the helmet in her hand and turned it over once, before lifting her gaze.

He shrugged. "I'm taking you out to lunch, aren't I?"

She sighed and her lips, despite herself, quirked into a bit of a grin.

* * *

Soul ate his burger with enthusiasm, but he was a bad actor and she could read him like a book - she knew his relish was forced and his smacks of delight weren't heartfelt.

Maka picked out her pickles with disinterest, leaning back against the wiry chairs that were part of the cozy decor of Death City Patties. The ride there was quiet, and as she clung onto his taut shoulders, she knew that what transpired wasn't a subject he'd allow her to pry into right away. It was infuriating - she wanted to know more, she wanted to understand why whenever his phone vibrated and his lips curved into a deep set frown, he'd turn solemn. She _trusted _him; she knew if he didn't tell her, it was surely because she shouldn't be concerned in these matters - that it wouldn't impact _them_, or their lives, right?

But when he'd interrupted or paused their current movie, when he'd set down his fork and knife even though they were at their favorite cafe, when he had to excuse himself from the toasting of champagne when they could all get together, all to answer his phone… Maka knew. It didn't take a genius to sniff it out.

He took another gigantic bite, chewing thoroughly before swallowing with a satisfied sigh.

As much as Maka wanted to let it slide, as much as she _knew _that's what _he _wanted, she just couldn't. This kind of bullshitdidn't persist after three months, especially since it seemed to be getting worse.

"Are you going to eat that?"

His voice was teasing, light, disarming.

Maka pushed the remains of her half-eaten burger toward him.

She watched as he lifted the patty, could see the tension in his wrists; the hesitation set in his jaw before he forced it to open. What she felt was no longer anger, frustration, or exasperation - it was pity. Pity for whom, she didn't know; was she feeling sorry for him, or sorry for _herself_, because after three months he still couldn't confide in her?

"Is this what you've been avoiding talking about?"

Her voice was low, a mere whisper, and as soon as the words blew past her lips she fiddled with the hem of her shirt. She didn't waste time berating herself for her harsh, impulsive words. Soul froze, before he purposefully took a bite - slow and deliberate, each stalling chew another second in which he didn't have to speak.

Soul lifted his gaze towards her, and in the brief seconds that their sight connected, she could hear his plea as clearly as if he'd voiced it. Her eyes narrowed. That should've been it, because the few times they'd had these silent conversations, one of them would relent. This time, though, there was no indication of any change.

He sighed and dropped the burger; it landed with a small pathetic _flop. _

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I get that," she returned, and though her voice was normally patient, she couldn't help but be the slightest bit grating. She _got it_ but that didn't mean she didn't want to _know. _

He frowned and folded his hands. "It's not that I don't want to tell you, it's just that-"

"- just _what_, Soul?"

He sighed and picked up his burger.

Maka blanched - she knew that _that was that. _She had a chance to pry it out of him, but that chance had since passed - and he'd officially closed himself off to her, _again,_ without explanation.

She knew he wouldn't talk, not when she'd brought it up like that. She was stupid for trying because, though some might call her stubborn, he was infinitely worse.

In less time than it'd took for him to eat his _own _burger, Soul suddenly stood up, the metallic chair keening against the tile as it pushed back. Without so much as a glance, he shrugged on his coat. Maka watched, her nails digging into her palms as her hands curled into fists, the mild pain a reminder that there was _still_ something there, deeply rooted inside him, that she couldn't touch.

That she _wouldn't_, if he never opened up to her.

* * *

Two days passed and he hadn't shown up at her door once. He hadn't responded to her texts, either - not that she'd sent much beyond a casual, calculated "what's up" on the eve of the second night. This wasn't, or it _shouldn't have been, _a fight. It _didn't have to be, _but Soulhad made it so, and thus she was mad all over again.

Worry bit at her heart. The wordless drive back, his quick kiss on her cheek before he'd disappeared - it was all too fleeting. Maka wasn't sure if she was being paranoid, but it was as if it was within his best interest to leave.

She didn't know whatit was, but she turned the phone in her hand anxiously. Today was a new day - Friday, and she contemplated giving him a call. If she did, from which angle should she approach it? Should she demand answers? Not likely, seeing as he'd probably hang up again. Pretend like nothing had happened? Safe, but she _herself _would feel like she were lying to herself and it would, ultimately, be unfulfilling. Attempt to gently pry the answers from him? Surely would not work, because that's all she'd been attempting, and seeing her track record, the outcome wouldn't be any different.

The thoughts were so loud in her mind that she nearly missed the knocking on her door, once, twice, before an audible grumble came from the other side. Maka reached for the handle but it turned on its own, and suddenly the door swung open, a tan hand still on the knob. She couldn't help but gawk at the person standing beyond the doorway.

"Soul, you could've just _waited, or what if I wasn't home-" _

Her boyfriend merely chuckled, and just the sound was enough to reassure her that he was alright. Whatever emotion it was that had been consuming him had all but left, and he was more than a fraction of his usual self. But there was something else behind his smile - an emotion she hadn't fully seen since she'd formally agreed to be his girlfriend.

Excitement.

Kind of.

"I know you're home Maka, you don't leave on Fridays because you have class in an hour."

Her eyes narrowed - of course he knew she'd have class, because of all the days he'd brought her coffee on the mornings when he- "_Why_ aren't you in class, Soul?"

He batted aside her question-turned-accusation with a wave of his hand, and instead leaned over her shoulder before grimacing. "Eugh. That looks stupid."

Maka sighed patiently before flipping closed the rough draft of her literary essay. "This isn't _stupid _Soul, just boring - and just to you. Some of us _enjoy _this kind of stuff and aren't taking it as a filler course."

"You liked me better when you thought I was genuinely interested in lit, didn't you?"

"Yep," she responded, and she couldn't help but smile because it felt like the old Soul was back. Rather, the _non-grumpy_ Soul that was her _boyfriend _was back. She tilted her head upward to reach his upside-down, glasses-lidded gaze, and his lips quirked into a grin of his own before he held out a hand.

Taking it, she pulled herself to her feet. "Are you driving me to school or something?" she inquired as he began to lead her to her doorway. He merely laughed.

"Opposite direction, actually."

Maka blanched. "Wait, what-"

But Soul silenced her with a finger, just pressed lightly against her lips as he shushed her. She felt herself blush, despite the mild annoyance at his suddenly cocky attitude, and as he continued to leave his hand against her face, he dug into his pocket and showed her the tickets. She took one glance before she glared at him. "You _didn't_."

He shrugged. "Non-refundable." His hand fell to his side. "_Come on, _Maka, I have the return flight booked, you're just missing one day of classes."

They were tickets to _New York City. _Of all places. Maka wasn't sure whether to laugh or yell. Dating Soul never had its dull moments, that was for sure, but this time, she wasn't so certain. It was only after he gave her a look did she attempt to protest, but her efforts only earned the pleasure of both hands, one securing her shoulder in place, the other covering her mouth preemptively. His face drained of teases and his mouth opened to surely explain, but she squirmed once more, trying to audiate _anything _that wasn't muffled protests.

"_Leh me- let me go,_ okay?" In a flash, his eyes were no longer joking, but serious, and she knew that - if he indeed, bought the tickets with his own money - they were expensive, and… it was just one day of classes, right?

Maka sighed. "I'm going to get packed. But next time you do something like this - like buy a _plane ticket _out of nowhere - you're going to _warn _me first, okay?"

She pretended she didn't hear his "_can't guarantee it!" _as she whirled on her heel and strode to her bedroom.

* * *

Maka stared.

The hotel that their cab stopped in front of was a hell of a lot _fancier _than she'd expected. Maka wasn't exactly well-travelled, but she assumed by the busboy, clad in a green uniform - _and hat_ \- who opened the large glass doors for them, that this was no _run of the mill_ hotel.

As she stood staring, she could hear Soul talking to the cab driver against the clunks of luggage hitting asphalt. Maka had to physically tear her eyes away from the grandiose palace-like structure, blinking twice as she turned to face her suddenly mundane and boring grey suitcase.

"You didn't tell me you booked a _fancy _hotel," she accused as Soul hoisted his bag over his shoulder, merely shrugging as he brushed past her. Maka gaped, but he kept his pace pointed - she had no choice but to follow, giving an awkward half-nod to the man who'd swooped in and held the door for them.

Inside was rather extravagant: high ceilings and warm lighting, with what looked suspiciously like marble columns decorating the interior. She felt the breath leave her, but Soul merely strode forward, as if he'd seen it all before, and towards the desk, where he dropped the bag to his feet and began to converse in a low voice. She soon realized she was staring and instead saw herself to one of the small couches dotted around the foyer, her teeth chewing on her bottom lip as she waited. A few fleeting moments later, Soul tapped her shoulder.

"We're good," was all he said to her, and soon they were pushing open the door to their shared room. Maka blinked. Of course they'd pick a room with two twin beds, but he said nothing as he rolled his suitcase inside, having claimed the bed closer to the bedside table. For his glasses, he insisted, and Maka shrugged, dropping her bags on the other bed.

"Where to, then?" she asked as Soul pulled out his phone from his pocket. After a fleeting glance, his lips slid into a pout.

"Well, after the time difference, it's what-"

Maka snorted. "It's nine."

"That," he said hollowly as he pushed the wire frames higher on his nose, scrolling through _something _with one hand. She liked the look on him - gone away were the jeans and jackets; his airplane attire comprised of sweatpants, a tee, and the glasses he detested to wear in public.

His phone locked with an audible click, and he set the mobile by his side. "So...dinner? We have a full day tomorrow." Maka, who'd had half a mind to get comfortable on her bed with a book, grimaced. At her look, he gave a fleeting smile. "Maka, we just came off a _five hour _flight."

"Not long enough," she whispered under her breath, but she carefully marked her page with a spare receipt that lay on the bottom of her bag, setting the novel carefully beside the primped pillows. He waited patiently, both hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatpants, but at the attentive lift of her head, he turned around and lead them out.

She had no idea where the cab was taking them, so instead she settled on watching the blur of lights pass by. Even this was different from LA, only because the city was so _close _and intoxicatingly charming, with the lights still bright as the cab rolled to a pause. The short, twenty minute drives she'd gone through in New York already proved the city to be charming - but when she turned to express some of these thoughts to Soul, the words caught on her throat.

One elbow propped against the frosted windowpane, Maka could just make out the faint silhouette of his face, the glint of his glasses' reflection, the way his palm covered his mouth as he turned outside, transfixed.

It was such a casual look, but she could almost read the expression on his face. She swallowed the words that brimmed on her tongue: she _knew _that look, and she didn't want to have to repeat herself.

_Fun. _That was what he promised.

She was going to have _fun._

* * *

"What're you looking at?"

His gaze lifted over his laptop and towards Maka as she wrung out her blonde tresses. Soul sighed and readjusted his glasses, the glowing screen casting a white reflection against the lenses. He said nothing as she wrapped the remains of her still-damp hair into a towel before striding over and plopping herself at the foot of the bed.

"I'm double-checking the tickets," he murmured as he scooted over, his voice low and somewhat contemplative - guilty even. Maka frowned, confused. Only when she reached forward and drew his laptop toward her did it actually make sense.

"Oh."

Soul sighed and drew his computer back to him. Maka didn't protest; she merely propelled herself forward and leaned her head against his leg. She wanted to ask, because she had a feeling this wasn't something he necessarily _wanted _to do, but maybe this was why he'd brought her here in the first place.

He said nothing as he returned to his computer. One hand found her hair, easing the towel off. Absentmindedly, he began combing through it, the movement rhythmic and soothing as they both stared at the screen.

It didn't take long for him to shut his laptop, the quiet hum of power silencing almost instantaneously. With one lazy hand, he pushed it out of the way, the other still curled into her hair. Though the silence was loud in her ears, Maka couldn't help but to feel an unshakeable tenseness coming from him.

"Soul?"

His quiet '_hm'_ was almost lost to her. Her heart pounded loud in her chest and she felt suddenly _unsure_.

It took her half a second to scramble off his lap and to sit upright. She pulled her hair over her shoulder and trapped his red gaze into hers. "You know, if you need to talk, I'm here."

The words were weighty, and yet at the same time, she felt a burden lift. His eyes narrowed, but it was so minute she knew only she'd pick up on it. She'd spent many days staring at his face, memorizing every contour, picturing him flawlessly even after he'd kissed her goodnight at her doorstep.

It was all she needed to say, because the implications, she knew, he would not - _did not_ \- miss.

With a fluid motion, he rose to his feet and walked around the bed. Maka couldn't help but stare after him, her heart loud in her ears. How else could she reach out to him? How could she reassure him that she was _here_, that even if he never said anything to her, she wasn't going to let go of him?

Soul paused half a step to the doorway of the bathroom, one slim and dextrous hand poised and resting on the doorframe in hesitation.

She expected some kind of rebuttal, rejection perhaps, similar to how he the sly deflection he'd been deploying since they'd met again - when she'd tried to pry the information from him.

"I know."

It wasn't loud, accusing, or annoyed. His voice caressed the words, a gentleness bracing them. In his eyes was the second half of the story, one that he wantedto explain, but wasn't sure if he _could._ Maka accepted that; because it was who he _was. _As much as he didn't want to admit it, this whole trip was to punish himself, as if that yelling argument wasn't punishment enough.

She sighed and reluctantly got off his bed, plopping down on the one just two feet away from his. The book she'd set aside was still there, awaiting her, but she didn't want to read. She heard the sound of water beginning to run, before the door closed.

Maka threw her head back, eyes tracing the ceiling.

Before long, she rolled over and forced herself to sleep.

* * *

"It's beautiful."

She'd never seen a more established estate, but Soul merely shrugged and brushed past her.

He'd been oddly silent the entire cab ride, his hands clutching the wad of cash that he'd (for whatever reason) kept out of his wallet. His knuckles were white from the effort he exerted.

She couldn't help but to be transfixed by the building before her.

_The Juilliard School. _

She didn't gawk for long, as her boyfriend turned around pointedly. "Coming?"

His voice was clipped, but there was still the warmth that she knew he reserved for her. She nodded quickly, her boots crunching against the snow as she bounded forward to keep pace.

He was silent as he took the stairs two by two. As Maka followed, she tried not to think too far into it - that his sudden seriousness after a lovely breakfast and morning stroll through Central Park was because he was dreading _this. _

What baffled her was the fact that it wasn't as if _she'd _been the one to suggest the trip. She knew nothing about music. _He'd_ been the one to book the tickets to an afternoon concert, and having seen his reaction firsthand from the night before, she doubted once again that this decision was anything butdestructive.

He froze, and she nearly bumped into him.

Maka ducked her head forward, but upon seeing nothing, she looked at him instead. There was an emotion in his eyes that she couldn't read, and the ones she could were a strange and unfamiliar blend of resentment and fear. Before Maka could question it, his fingers locked around her wrist and he dragged her away, back towards the central building.

Questions burned at her throat as he held the door open for her. Maka passed him, noting that his expression was carefully blank - neutral. With a murmured "stay here", he left her alone as he walked towards the box office.

She took saw and took the opportunity to sit, and in those moments of silence, she realized just how out of her element she was. The people milling about the lobby seemed detached to her, though their attire was similar. But that wasn't of her own volition; Soul had made sure she'd dressed a little more prim and proper. It wasn't as if she were _uneducated_; she figured she should be dressing a little nicer considering that she was going to be attending a venue. He'd insisted that she wear an even _nicer _dress than she would've worn originally.

But these people - they exuded an air that she couldn't even begin to comprehend. It was _class_, a society she'd never belong to. She _didn't _belong to it - this was Soul'sworld, and she nothing but an accessory, a _hindrance_.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the aforementioned man strode back and plopped down beside her. In his hands were two tickets, marking their seats for what he'd booked them to watch. _Rachmaninoff Piano Concerto no. 2 Opus 8. _The title was meaningless to her, but, she knew, it meant a great deal to Soul. Beside her he clenched the two tickets in his fist.

Suddenly, Maka decided she had had enough. This whole thing had been his idea, and yet he was the one sitting there, nervous and pouty.

Maka sprung to her feet, giving him a pointed look. He only briefly returned it with his piercing red gaze - but it was all she needed to convince him to take her hand and pull himself up, though a sigh still managed to roll off his lips. She wasn't perturbed, though, as they stalked through the archway and into the building.

It only took a few steps on her part before Soul had silently taken the lead; she didn't realize it herself but the shift in stance was so gradual, so subtle, that it was natural. Soon enough, hewas the one who was two paces and one stairstep ahead.

He stayed one chair-scoot ahead of her, too, as they shimmied into their spots. The concert hall was lush, with high ceilings and red, plush seats. The stage was set up to include what looked like a full orchestra, with a large piano taking centre stage.

Soul sat down first. He didn't even bother opening the program he clutched in his fist, instead he fixated his gaze straight ahead, glassy eyes unseeing. Maka, knowing nothing would come of this, looked around and watched as the audience filled rather quickly. Self-consciousness bit her once more, causing anxious butterflies to flit about her stomach. Questions still brimmed on her tongue, but upon locking eyes with his steeled gaze, she swallowed away any of her concerns.

Faster than she expected, the lights suddenly dimmed and the lull of conversation quelled. The questions in her mind disappeared as a girl in a long dress walked on stage.

The woman gave a half bow to be met with a smattering applause. Maka clapped her own hands together and a small glance to the side told her that Soul himself was slowly, reluctantly, doing the same. The silence between each clap only grew larger, before he lowered his hands to his side and his teeth bit down on his upper lip.

And thus the music began.

It started quiet, just a few low notes at a time.

Maka didn't know how to react, but with each pounding chord, she felt her heart rate quicken. She had no idea how something as insignificant as music could make her feel this way - this moved, this _involved. _As soon as the piano slowed and the swell of violins began, she could feel herself sighing into it, each rise and fall causing her heart to flutter.

And as the music grew to a sudden climax, she felt one finger toying with her right palm. She chanced a glance, but Soul said nothing; only sat on the edge of his chair as he watched intently. His eyes followed every movement of her flowing fingers, every flourish of notes as the orchestra followed in synchronicity.

She thought his fingers would curl into hers - as they often naturally did when they were side by side. But there was nothing - even as the music descended and she felt her heart go with it.

The music picked up again, and Maka took the opportunity to grasp for his hand. But it wasn't there; in fact, he'd withdrawn them to his side, placing one palm on top of the other in silence. His fingers curled around the surface of his hand - and that was enough for Maka to know he didn't want to touch her. It was a strange feeling in her heart -whether from the piano, which had suddenly taken a turn for the melancholy, or from her own disappointment, she wasn't sure.

She just knew that, as always, a divide lay between him and her.

Maka swallowed her questions and wrapped her hands around her armrests. Her knuckles bordered on white as the music returned to a bouncy, louder motion. She wasn't sure what was happening but the swell of sound suddenly halted, and everyone erupted into applause.

She blinked and brought her hands together politely, but Soul didn't do the same.

And then the music started again.

It was like that for the next twenty or so minutes. Once in a while, Maka would glance over at Soul, but to no avail. He merely affixed his gaze forward, never looking at her once. At first, she was offended - what was the point of bringing her here, if all he was going to do was ignore her?

The thoughts lingered in her brain, loud and intrusive, but she never got a chance to voice them, as he dodged around her and lead the way out.

She realized it then - that the man who'd taken her to New York may not be the same man she was dating.

But it didn't matter.

Maka was determined to _know _him all the same.

She didn't want to be left behind.

* * *

He didn't say anything further, even when he led them to the closest restaurant across the street. They only spoke briefly, in snatches, about the concert, but he didn't seem interested in elaborating beyond one or two word answers.

Once the food came, it was the same: only when Maka asked a question did he respond, and it was generally a quick answer before he swallowed. This stupid game persisted for the majority of their meal, and it wasn't until after she accidentally slipped - allowed a frustrated sigh to blow through her lips - did he perk and apologize.

"I'll make it up to you, I really hope that concert didn't bore you."

Maka couldn't help but scoff. He was worried that he _bored _her? "Soul - this is _your _trip, isn't it? I'd love to do whatever you want to do." She paused. It was one thing to think it, but to say it out loud - that the trip wasn't for _her, _for _them_, but only for him, it was a truth that hurt to think about, but the faster they'd both accepted it, the faster they could move on. She fixed a grin on her face. "Besides, the concert wasn't _boring_. I thought it was fascinating."

Soul's face didn't loosen, didn't even crack a grin. Instead, he seemed even further somber. "So did I."

He took a breath then, a slow and long inhale. And with his exhale, she could feel the stress, the worry, the _anxiety _leave his body. For a moment, he seemed refreshed - but she could tell it wasn't permanent, that he'd only shoved aside his misgivings to deal with later.

"I'm still going to make it up to you."

"Okay," Maka said as she tried to keep the frustration she felt hidden. Truthfully, it wasn't as if she'd be able to get over it quickly; but another measured breath later, she managed to dispel some of her distress.

He would tell her when he was ready - she had faith in that much.

So she spooled more pasta onto her fork and took a bite. His eyebrow raised at the action, but she merely chewed with relish before swallowing.

"I really liked that concert, by the way," she said conversationally. "It was moving."

His lips twitched in what she perceived to be amusement, and he allowed himself a gratuitous sip of water before he responded with a hint of a smile. "I'm not surprised, Rachmaninoff is _really_ mainstream nowadays."

Maka stabbed through a shrimp with more vigour than she expected - not that she was mad, but the fishing for a light banter was _them_. It made her feel normal - as if they hadn't just decided to take an impulsive trip to New York. "_I _liked it."

"I thought you might," Soul responded. And as she set down her fork, his hand reached from across the table, one slim finger tracing across the back.

It was a lazy gesture, but the affection was there.

It was in his eyes, too.

She smiled and flipped her palm up.

She tried to ignore the _other _emotion in his eyes.

* * *

In hindsight she should've expected where he'd whisk her away to: a jazz club - with a live band to boot. It was all a little nostalgic - the one time they'd discussed jazz at any length was back in her apartment, what felt like lifetimes ago. It was different here, there were other people milling about, some at the bar, but a majority on the dancefloor. It wasn't a super lively place, and part of her wondered how Soul'd even found such a location.

Then again, he seemed to be at least _somewhat _familiar with New York. His easy eyes and relaxed posture certainly seemed as such.

Maka sighed and looked down. It was mighty convenient she was already in a dress.

His hands slid down to her hips, pulling her close. She gasped, feeling her body press against his. "Soul, I don't – I," she was silenced as he pressed a finger to her lips, a small smile creeping on his own mouth.

"Just shh."

She gave him a helpless look but he let one hand rest on her hip as his left slipped into her right. She felt him shift as he stepped once. "Wh-"

"Follow," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. She barely managed to swallow her hesitation as she took a half step in the direction he did.

And then they were dancing.

They swayed in slow, lazy circles, and though his voice was quiet in her ear, she could hear him perfectly as he hummed along to whatever song they danced to. Maka let her head rest on his shoulder, leaning into the soft padding of his suit as they moved. She felt lips press against the crown of her head before he brushed his chin against her hair. The hand on her hip moved up her back, long slim fingers gently pushing through her blonde locks in a tender, almost worshipping manner. She sighed in contentment against his tux, the lull of the rhythm leaving her somehow strangely content, as if she never wanted this moment to end.

But she knew. She knew it wouldn't end up that way.

On the next beat she lifted her head, pulling back to look at him. His eyes were unfocused, staring somewhere beyond her body, beyond _her._

"Soul?"

He came back to her, his head angling down ever-so-slightly as he hummed his acknowledgement.

"Don't… don't leave me behind."

"I won't," he responded instantaneously. There was something in his eyes, something in the way his mouth curled downwards, that she _knew._

And yet, they danced.

She felt the grip on her hand tighten, his arm flexing almost protectively around her lithe frame. Even though their bodies were in synchronicity, their minds weren't. He knew. She knew. And yet they both didn't want to talk about it – didn't want to affirm what they both saw coming.

She let her head go back onto his shoulder, the spot comforting and perfect against her cheek. How did she ever spend a daywithout him? It was scary in a way, Maka never thought she'd be so dependent on him. She didn't ever want to go back; she didn't think she _could _go back. As they swayed in their circle, enraptured in a perfect, private moment of intimacy, she could feel herself want to cry.

"Don't lie to me."

They finished one more step before he stopped them both, letting go of her. She couldn't help but drop her gaze and bring her discarded hand to her cheek, trapping the tears before they could spill from her eyes. Soul took a step forward, two arms reaching around and pulling her gently into his chest, his hands interlacing and keeping her trapped within his embrace.

She lifted her head and his lips met hers.

And the moment would've been so perfect, if only his kiss didn't tell her the words she needed to hear. It would've been perfect if she knew how to stop the tears that fell down her cheeks. It would've been perfect if this kiss, the kiss they shared in a small club in New York, in the middle of a dance floor amongst other swaying couples, didn't mean goodbye.

But she knew.

And he knew, too.

So she raised her hands and pulled him closer, letting his tongue slide into her mouth, caressing and exploring and leaving apologies against every inch of her. But she didn't want his silent apologies, she didn't want to hear the quiet lilt of the music, the rhythmic shuffling of feet from the couples around them, the heartbeat of his chest as he deepened the kiss, pressing against her weak torso like he'd never see her again.

When he finally lifted his head, his thumb brushed against her cheeks. A quiet chuckle escaped her lips as she raised the heels of her palms against her skin, inadvertently brushing him away. His red eyes brimmed with concern, but she hiccuped another laugh between her own hands, trying to hide the sob that threatened to break through her control.

"Let's just enjoy this night," he said quietly, tenderly, as he leaned in and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. She leaned into the faint pressure of his lips, one hand catching his and pulling it close to her chest. When he finally pulled away, a ghost of a smile played with the corners of his lips as his eyebrow quirked once.

Words failed her as she tried to wipe another stray tear, but she nodded anyway.

His smirk had never seemed so sad.

* * *

She opened her eyes.

The room was dark and the bed was cold. She quickly drew the covers up tighter, trying to salvage whatever heat he'd left behind to warm her exposed body.

The bathroom door slid open. From the faint light that came from the room, Maka could just make out Soul in the process of pulling a shirt over his head, a tooth brush sticking out of his mouth. "Mornin'," he managed from around the obstruction.

"Morning," she returned, and at her light glare, he turned pointedly as she slipped out from under the covers and into a shirt he'd left folded on her unslept bed. She kept her eyes trained on him as she slipped on pyjama pants, though he plucked the toothbrush from his mouth and twirled it once.

"So what do you want to do today? Go to the libraries or something?"

Maka laughed, admittedly impressed that he'd managed that string of words, considering he was speaking with a mouthful of toothpaste and spit. She brushed past him and into the bathroom, turning on the tap and running the water warm. With a quick flourish, she placed a towel under the consistent stream. "It doesn't matter to me, what did _you _want to do?"

She heard him shuffle into place behind her, and the warmth that tickled the back of her neck told her that he was leaning over her. She moved a bit to the side; he spat his mouthful of toothpaste into the sink before turning the water to cold.

"Why don't we go to Times Square," he suggested as she began to wipe her face awake. "We can pick up some stuff for everyone too."

And off they went, spending the day together.

Every opportunity she got, she tried. She wanted to know, to _understand _him, but he dodged. He dodged impossibly well, and probably tried to take her mind off things through shopping. But she wasn't Liz; the questions continued to burn on the forefront of her thoughts, though she also began to wonder where the money had come from in the first place.

Unexpectedly, he avoided that question, too.

And thus, frustration surmounted, until what was probably the tenth time she tried asking him. He caught her hands in his, his expression no longer falsely cheerful. "I'll tell you over dinner, okay?"

Maka paused.

The sincerity in his eyes burned bright.

"I can't _not _know."

Red stared into green.

He blinked.

"I know."

* * *

It was the same thing, once again.

This time, there was a faint lull of music, just a quiet wafting of jazz. Maka shifted in her seat. Jazz - it was a genre she'd only become familiar with because of Soul. They were happy memories - they _should've _been all happy memories. But then she remembered the night before, the caresses, the touches, the slow waltz they danced that had been the sign that things would never be the same again.

She took a sip of wine - just the faintest taste of red against her lips. Through her crystal flute, she could see his expression - pensive, a tinge sour.

He set down his fork and knife. It was solike him; that he'd know what she was going to say seconds - _minutes_ \- before she did.

He mirrored her actions, lifting his glass to his lips.

They both set their drinks down with a light, duetted clink.

"So, are you going to tell me now?"

His expression was unsurprised, and he didn't bother attempting to disguise the brief hurt that crossed his features. It didn't matter if he bothered to at all - she could read him like a book. She always could, but after spending the past three months with him, in his embrace, there was _nothing _he could hide.

This was it.

She wouldn't wait any longer.

"Maka..." he said, the address oddly hesitant - as if his lips weren't familiar with the syllables of her name.

Her heart pounded once, sympathetically, but it wasn't what she wanted. She'd been sympathetic too long, been sensitive to the pain in his eyes. But that wasn't a relationship_. _She hated feeling helpless - hated watching his expression sour, when she had no idea why.

Although she had an inkling of suspicion now.

"Please, Soul," she said, her tone less cautious than it was affirmative, pressing.

He sighed, and it was heavy. It weighed down, fogging the crystal flute he still held lithely in his fingers. The sigh wasn't reluctant, thank _goodness_ for that, and his teeth chewed his lips as he searched for words.

He eyed her from across the table.

She stared back.

"It's my parents," he said, his voice heavy. "They want me to pursue music."

She figured as much, honestly, but she didn't see where the problem _lay_. It was obvious to her that something about it bothered him, infuriated him - caused him to have a falling out with his parents and to take this impromptu trip to New York (which she'd enjoyed, but had known there was more to than simply leisure). She paused and waited for him to elaborate.

"They want me to transfer to Juilliard - they keep threatening to send the application."

"Wait, can they even dothat?" Maka exclaimed, before she dropped her voice down a notch. His eyes were deadly serious - devoid of their usual affection. _Oh god. _

"Maka, you don't understand, do you?" He sighed once more, but this time the intention behind his breath was angrier - malicious. "I'm an Evans. My _entire _family has been to Juilliard. My parents - my brother - it's just me," his voice soured. "I'm the last one."

She didn't want to be as insensitive as to ask why he didn't_._ She could still remember how he played for her that had been violent - clashes of sound that rang painfully in her mind and in complete contradiction to the music of the concert they'd attended the day previous. His music was scary. Terrifying. Dangerous. And yet, explicitly beautiful. An untapped genius that masqueraded as madness.

She could almost understand. It was there, scratching at the corners of her mind, but she realized she'd probably neverunderstand how he felt.

"Maka, I hate it. I _hate _it." His voice was low, and if it weren't for the utterance of her name, she would've thought he was talking to himself. "I practice every day, but I don't _want _to. I don't even love it anymore. I _hate it._"

She took one quiet, deep, inhale.

"Then why?"

His expression grew painful, the red in his eyes a dull, dying flame. "Because I'm an Evans, Maka. There's no _other_ reason behind it."

She fixed her eyes at her hands; he stabbed his fork into the table.

"That's not very fair_,_" she muttered, finger tracing the lip of her wine glass.

"Haven't you heard?" Soul laughed humourlessly, the chuckle empty without its usual sincerity. "Life's not fair." He shook his head, scoffing. "No, it's impossible. It's like my life was a fucking soap opera or something. I didn't think this shit happened in real life. But apparently it _does_, and no matter what I do - what I say, I can't change it. You know what they said about Death City University? It was a _trial _period. I still had to be a music major - well, I got away with undeclared," he amended, his voice lilting upward with a vague spark of pride. He stabbed the table once more. "But they showed up and, well, you saw."

He fell silent, disguising his discomfort with another sip of wine.

She followed suit.

And that was that. He didn't bring it up once more during the dinner. He didn't haveto. What could she say? Things will work out? That she was there for him? That nothing will change?

She didn't know.

She simply didn't know.

* * *

He had headphones on his ears.

It was the only sign she needed. His eyes remained fixed forward, even as she leaned over to her own personalized screen. There were only a couple movies that caught her interest - but those were the last thoughts on her mind.

The flight may have been five hours, but it meant nothing. It meant that, in five hours, everything afterward would change.

It meant that, in five hours, they had to return to their reality. It was odd, acknowledging the distance between them that they'd never bothered touching in the past three months. If she was being honest, it'd always been there. Since the day they'd met at the bonfire, up until the night they spent together. Part of her was surprised she was being so complacent- but that was because she was _scared_.

Admitting that that strange gap between them was there - admitting she could never fill it, never truly understand him - was something Maka was _terrified _of. She'd already cut ties once.

She couldn'tdo it again.

It wasn't exactly panic that began to claw at her lungs, but the two deep breaths she swallowed down helped soothe her pounding heart. She had five hours to bask in the final blissful limbo that they had together.

From her peripheral, his headphones only made themselves more glaringly obvious.

She didn't want to, but Maka ripped her eyes off him and focused on the blank screen in front of her. With one slim finger and acute body awareness, she flipped through the brightly coloured menus, settling on the first movie that seemed remotely mindless.

Maka tried to pay attention - she really did. Usually it wasn't hard for her to get absorbed in what was happening on the screen. Hell, even during the lazy nights in, she'd find her spot in the nook of his arm, a blanket loosely over her torso, and they wouldn't talk as they watched whatever was in front of them.

It was different this time.

The tip of his nail traced the top of her hand, just a small, mindless gesture. Maka glanced at him, somewhat surprised, but his chin was on his palm, his eyes closed as he nodded along to his music.

Soul had always been rather nonchalant.

There was something charming about the gesture, the lack of hesitation, as if it had always been an impulse ingrained within him. His fingers were reassuring, and she realized then that _this _had always been how he expressed himself. Since the beginning.

His fingers.

They told stories, expressed what his words could never quite accomplish. It was almost silly, because the piano suited him so well. No matter what he said, what he felt, the truth was - at the end of the day - he was a musician. What he'd shown her that day, it was _everything_.

He knew it, too.

As much as he denied it, he knew. He knew that this was who he was, and he couldn't deny it anymore.

His fingers skimmed her palm, before taking her hand. He squeezed once.

And as much as she tried to keep her eyes pointed forward, she couldn't; the screen was nothing but a blur to her at this point, and the warmth from their hands couldn't quell the beating of her heart.

* * *

The retrieval of their luggage went by fast, or so Soul said. Soon they were waiting in the waning winter air, traces of snow still evident on the ground. Maka bounced on her toes, her suitcase off to the side. Soul stood just a few steps away, rubbing his hands together and breathing into them - fogging his glasses in the process.

Thankfully, Soul managed to flag down the first cab that passed by. Maka handed off her bag to the driver, but froze when she realize Soul wasn't doing the same. She frowned. "You're not…?"

He shrugged. "I think my parents will come pick me up."

His tone was low, almost a little foreboding, and once more Maka was reminded that he didn't pay for the trip on his own. Her lip curled against her own volition. She'd told herself she wouldn't bring it up - not to ruin the moment. But the moment was long over. She felt the words on her tongue, ready to accuse, to question, but the look he gave her was all she needed.

The driver came around front, and before she could lift a finger, Soul'd already pulled out a wad of bills and shoved a couple of them into his hands. "Take her to the apartments outside of DCU," he instructed.

"The Redbricks," Maka elaborated, before frowning. "Soul I-"

But her boyfriend shook his head, ducking into the open door and planting a swift kiss on her lips. "We'll talk soon, okay?"

"What?"

He smiled and closed the door for her.

And they were off.

She wished she had headphones - something - seeing as she truly hadn't expected to be left alone for the lonely drive home. She turned around and looked out the back window, watching as the figure of her boyfriend grew smaller and smaller.

Then, as she watched, a car pulled up. Two people - a man and a woman, the man with similar shock of white hair- grabbed him. Maka froze. From her position she could tell they were yelling, saying _something_, but she couldn't hear. She couldn't see.

_Stop the car! _She thought the words, but she couldn't say them. Why? Why not? Why couldn't she helphim?

Because she never could-that much he'd always made clear.

She watched as they grabbed him, pulling him into the car. And she could only stare as it drove away, leaving her behind.


	7. Chapter 7

Soul Evans dropped out of DCU.

Maka wasn't surprised. After seeing what she had in New York, after the hasty texts and the reassurances he'd given that everything was alright - after she saw him drive off the way she did at the airport - she knew there was no way he'd be coming back.

And the way everyone was acting about it, it was as if he'd diedor something.

The first day back after the break, Blackstar had come at her in a running tackle. Truth be told, she'd forgotten the shorter male had ever beenenrolled to begin with. And then there was Tsubaki, Liz, and Patti - all great friends who seemed determined to keep her hopes up.

Although, as much as she loved to spend those lazy afternoons with her girlfriends, Maka sorely missed spending them with _him_.

Two weeks after he'd left, Maka returned alone to her dreary little apartment. She'd already blown off plans to go hang out with the girls, and instead undid her coat and took off her scarf, flipping her laptop screen up.

A single message awaited her in Skype.

She took one fleeting glance before sucking in a breath. She rolled her mouse over and, without further hesitation, hit _play_.

"_Hey." _His husky voice was made even lower due to the crap quality of the speakers.

And then the camera adjusted, straight onto him - his entire face a little too close to the lens. Just from the way his neck was extended, she could see the ligaments tighten, the way his shirt dipped low enough to see his collarbone. From the angle, too, his jaw jutted out, angular and sharp.

Then he pulled back. Soul ran one hand through his mess of white hair, a sheepish grin already on his lips. "_Sorry for being out of reach two days ago; I had to go pick up more furniture. Moving sucks, man. I hate it sometimes." _

She couldn't fight the smile on her face.

Nor, apparently, could he.

He waved his arms in a large gesture. "_So, this is it - I mean, it's not much more than what you saw before but, the point of the matter being, I have a chair now. And - oh wait - I need to show you this- you're gonna love it-" _

And then the camera shook, as he leaned in and scooped up his laptop into his arms. Maka chuckled as the screen only gave her a very detailed view of his red shirt. She heard the rhythmic thumping as he went down a flight of stairs - none of it unfamiliar as she hadseen his little flat on the first "grand tour"he'd given of his little apartment.

He then set the laptop down - only for her to be treated to a view of the tips of his white hair.

He seemed to pick up on that a second later; he reached up and the angle readjusted - to an odd, somewhat top-down view of him.

Soul grinned up at the camera.

"_Pretty neat, huh? I have an upright now." _

Maka grimaced.

Truthfully, his enthusiasm seemed a little forced - but she could see, better than anyone, the genuine sparkle of delight in his eyes, as if he were a little kid presented with a new toy.

His fingers hesitated against the ivory, his hands poised as if he were about to play. Then they retracted, instead falling into his lap.

Soul looked up, this time his expression slightly grim.

And then it was gone in a flash.

"_I miss you, Maka,_" he said, his voice strong but his eyes full of emotion._ "I mean I've said this a lot before but I actually miss you. I should be able to talk to you soon - I'm still figuring out the registration stuff. It's a bit of a mess, considering I've come in the middle of the semester. But I think it'll all work out."_

His expression faltered.

"_I wish I were still at DCU, though. Juilliard is - well,_" he trailed off, as if he was trying to find the right words. But then he seemingly abandoned that thought process, his eyes dark. They always betrayed him. _"But if all goes well, I should be back in Nevada in a year or two. Parents want me to try for the artist diploma, as if that'll make things any smoother with the transfer." _

Soul grinned, but that, too, didn't meet his eyes.

"_Love you, Maka. I'll talk to you soon, okay?" _

He reached up, and she was treated once more to a view of his strained neck before the recording cut out.

Maka stared, trying to process it all.

Two weeks. It'd only been two weeks.

As much as she _hated_ herself for it, it already felt like a part of her had been ripped out.

But this was how things were now. There was no use dwelling on it, no use pretending their relationship was going to be the same. They were both changing,and she could see it in his eyes - now that he was away from all his _distractions_ \- his true love for music. And she could only be there for him, but not _with _him.

Maka swallowed, happy to find that, at least, her throat wasn't thick with emotion.

She hit the play button again.

* * *

"_\- I honestly think they wanted me to stay back a year just so they could sap more tuition money from me. Knowing my parents, they'd definitely do it- " _

Maka hummed tunelessly as she stirred her vegetables, the sizzling produce drowning out his low, reverberating voice. It was only when she turned down the heat, wiping her brow, that she was finally able to hear him speak.

"_What are you making again?_"

"Vegetable stirfry," she said, and she didn'thave to see Soul's face to know his nose was crumpled with disgust. She couldn't roll her eyes when she heard him snort in contempt. "Shut up, it's not like you're eating it."

He snorted once more. _"Even if I were there, I'd insist on take-out or something._"

"I know," Maka responded lightly as she checked her pot of rice. Satisfied by what she saw, she turned her attention back to the screen.

Soul was sitting on his bed, a small grin playing on his lips, eyes bright and focused.

It was still strange to only see him through a screen.

"_Tell me about your day again._"

Maka sighed, sitting down in a nearby chair. "Well, we're getting ready for midterms. _Don't laugh - _just because _you're _not in school until next year, doesn't mean we get all the luxuries."

The smile twitching on Soul's lips suddenly vanished, replaced with a frown and a solemn nod.

Though Maka wanted nothing more than to smack him (playfully) upside the head, the computer monitors unfortunately limited that particular interaction.

"-And I went out with the Thompsons. Tsubaki was busy, she went-"

"_On a date with Blackstar, I know. He texted me about it earlier," _Soul dismissed, then another grin spread on his lips. Maka squinted.

"What did he ask?"

"_Same thing as usual, advice, like what to get her -" _

"Soul, what did you _say_?"

His sudden, surprisingly loud chortles caught her by surprise. Maka secretly thought his laugh was a bit different over the internet, jarring in a way. It wasn't the same as she'd come to expect, not quite as _warm_.

"_I actually told him to figure it out - I mean, how long have those two been dating? And I swear Maka, he started grovelling-" _

"- Blackstar, _grovelling_?"

"_I couldn't stop laughing_," he said, a wicked smile on his face. And then he sobered, his eyes growing concerned. "_By the way, I leave for what, not even a month, and you already can't take care of yourself?" _

"I - what - _shit_-" Maka blanched as she heard the water spill over from the stovetop. Cursing, she danced around the mess and twisted the burner off. With a small gasp of relief, and ignoring his blatant chuckles, Maka piled her freshly-made food into a bowl, bringing the steaming dish to her table. He only wrinkled his nose once more as she began to eat.

"_I'm kinda glad I already ate - that looks too healthy,_" he said plainly as she dug in. Mouth full of food, Maka could only afford a half sneer, to which he returned. _"Anyways, I'm gonna let you eat - I have to practice. But I'll talk to you later, okay?" _

She allowed herself all the time she needed to properly swallow her steaming mouthful of vegetables. "Yeah," Maka managed, almost reluctantly, as he gave her a half smile before the screen went blank.

She glanced at the timer, the two hour indicator reflecting innocently back.

Two hours.

While it may have seemed long in hindsight, it was really only a fraction of how long they would've hung out if he still lived in Nevada.

* * *

When he picked up the phone, it was uncharacteristically quiet in his apartment.

"_Hello_?"

"Hi, I'm taking a study break," she said matter-of-factly. His sigh resonated in the receiver before it eased into a lighthearted chuckle.

Her brain hurt. It felt like she knew everything and yet nothing at the same time. So she pushed herself back from the table, away from the abundant textbooks and the scattered notes she didn't bother attempting to organize.

Soul scoffed into the receiver. "_But you have your final in two days, even you said you didn't want to call me -" _

"I changed my mind," she snapped, before she blinked and blushed. Maka sighed and walked to her bed, flopping down onto down sheets. "Sorry," she exhaled, pressing the receiver closer to her ear. "I just want a few minutes to talk to you."

"_Well, I guess I can spare you a few minutes," _he said lightheartedly. The muffled sounds she heard told her he was moving about too. _"What are you up to?" _

"Brainless nothingness," she responded coolly.

Soul chuckled appreciatively. "_Do you need me to test you?"_

"Depends, do you know the plot of Atlas Shrugged?"

"_No, but I can google it_," he said earnestly. Maka sighed.

"That's okay, thanks - Tsubaki's coming tomorrow to test me, she took the course last year." She flopped onto her stomach, her hair back in pigtails - she couldn't help it, it was her most comfortable hairstyle, especially when she had to concentrate. Maka rubbed the ends of her hair with her fingers, her foot unconsciously tapping the ground impatiently.

She could just make out the sound of his quiet breaths.

"I've missed talking to you," she admitted.

Soul hummed in response. _"You said you didn't want to be distracted for a week._"

"As I said, changed my mind."

He chuckled, before his voice suddenly grew serious. "Maka, I think you should study. You only have two days left."

She sat up suddenly, emotion tearing into her heart. She wasn't thatmuch of a bookworm, was she? Doubt flooded her brain - what was wrongwith calling him once in a while? The latter half of the semester had been hard, taxing -she hadn't been able to talk as often due to the sheer amount of papers she'd had to write.

And she knew - knew better than him that she gave herself a week _at least _of studying to feel secure about her exams.

It didn't mean Soul had to shove the self-imposed fact in her face, now that she felt differently.

He sighed into the receiver.

"_It's not that I don't want to talk to you - believe me, I'd like nothing more - but I want you to study and do well. You know yourself the best." _And then his voice was a little lighter. "_Don't tell me you think you can sacrifice a few percent here and there. People're gonna think I rubbed off you._"

Even as she registered his words, her brain automatically was reeling at his suggestion. A few _percent_? "Like that would ever happen!"

He chuckled once more, the sounds low and warm and everything she _needed_ but couldn't have - not over the phone.

"_Go study._"

He hung up first.

* * *

"How's school?"

His back was to her as he reached over to pull out papers, binders, and a pencil case from his backpack.

"_Good,_" she heard him say, though his body didn't turn once to acknowledge her. "_Sorry, I just gotta-" _

"Take your time," Maka responded - and truth be told, she had her notebook out, too. She was in the middle of transferring her typed notes onto paper - a routine she remembered he'd fondly tease her for.

Lately, though, that hadn't happened.

A rustling caught her attention. He was there, grinning widely, somewhat still turning with the motion of his plopping into the chair. She scoffed.

"Dork."

"_Yeah yeah. Whatcha doing?" _

"Transferring notes," she responded, raising the notebook into the view of the camera. His red eyes rolled at the object before he turning upward. "And you?"

"_Music homework." _

She waited for him to elaborate, to which he sighed. "_I can't really explain it, Maka - it's not universal, like how book reports are-" _

"- Analytical essays," Maka corrected with half a grin on her face. He didn't return the smile, though. Probably missed it, seeing as his eyes were downcast - brow furrowed in concentration.

"- _is there a difference?_"

Maka sighed and put down her notebook. His tone was dismissive, if not a little short. That much was irritating, but she could let it slide - after all, it had been two weeks since they began their third year.

She stared into the screen as he lowered his head and poured over the white sheets he had laid in front of him. A few more moments of silence stretched before them, before she cocked her head to the side. "So is there some kind _music for dummies _crash course you can put me through?"

Soul waited maybe a minute longer before he set his pen down, lifting his gaze. "_Uh, well, the thing is, it's all additive. It's like math." _

Maka frowned. "So that's a no."

He lifted his gaze, his eyes apologetic, though there was no need for him to be. He offered a conciliatory half smile, one which she chose to shrug off. It was fine. Although she _could _appreciate it, Maka didn't know a single thing about music.

It was just that she felt a bit of concern,that was all.

She bit the inside of her lip.

"_What's on your mind?" _

Maka shook her head. "Nothing. Just thinking about dinner. I'll call you back later, alright?" He gave a quick nod as his eyes returned to his assignment, pen resting against his jaw as he pondered.

Maka sighed and hung up.

* * *

"-Soul?"

"_Hey, sorry - Anya, stop playing - what's up?" _

Maka frowned, leaning back against her chair. October marked the beginning of another cold year, the crisping and crunchy leaves a prelude to a cold winter without Soul. She could remember how, exactly a year ago, she could still touch him.

When they weren't forced apart by distance.

"Sorry, are you busy?"

"_No, I'm just wrapping up combo-rehearsal, we ran a little late - sorry, I didn't know you were gonna call." _

_Oh. _

"It's fine, say hi to Anya for me."

"_Hi Maka,_" was the somewhat cheerful reply - luckily the woman's voice wasn't as condescending as it once was. When Anya and Maka had first been introduced, they hadn't gotten off on the best foot, and it was made even worse seeing as it was over a video program. But Anya was a talented flutist, and now - about a month after first meeting her - Maka was relieved to call her a friend. She faintly heard Anya's goodbyes to Soul.

"_What's up?_"

Maka took the opportunity to spin once in her chair, her mind abuzz. Part of her wanted to invite him to the party Liz was throwing - another part wanted to just lie down and doze to his voice. A third part of her wanted to book a plane immediately to New York - she'd only seen him once, over the summer break, and now she was _really _craving the physical contact.

She shook her head. "It's nothing. I shouldn't have called."

"_Maka_," he said firmly, though his tone was patient. "_We can just talk. There doesn't have to be a reason._"

It was strange, to be told she was allowed to do such selfishthings. She'd tried to space her calls - from every other night to every week, only because the two had such conflicting work schedules. It seemed like it simply wasn't possible anymore.

The thoughts ran rampant in her head, only broken as he spoke her name into the receiver. "_How's Black Star? Kid? Are they surviving?" _

"Liz is throwing a party this weekend," Maka found herself answering despite herself. And as soon as the words left her mouth, she instantly regretted them.

Soul sighed. "_I can't believe the last Liz Party I went to was almost three months ago." _

_Four_, she corrected in her mind, but didn't bother voicing.

"_It'll be fun, though. Too bad you'll be short a date." _

"Liz says she's taking me."

"_And when she's making out with the guy beside you?" _Soul paused, as if in anticipation for her to hit him with something. And truthfully, she felt the phantom urge, the instinct trained in her to (gently) smash his head in with a nearby blunt object. But she couldn't do that now.

He apologized into her ear.

"Don't worry, it's probably true," Maka dismissed hollowly.

His chuckle seemed equally as empty.

* * *

The Thompson sisters were loud when they were intoxicated.

Liz swung an arm over her shoulders, a grin on her face and blue eyes lazy with alcohol. "Come on Maka, brighten up - we're supposed to be having _fun_."

It _was_ a fun party, or, at least, it wasn't _boring_ \- Liz's parties simply weren't capable of being boring. However, with the carefully selected tunes and the somewhat smoky atmosphere, Maka felt as if her head was wading through murky water.

She couldn't make odds or ends of their house, not while within the presence of the mass of bodies whose faces she didn't recognize. Music pumped from the speakers, a low beat she knewSoul would've criticized the taller Thompson for.

Maka took a glance at her cup, grimacing. Liz's eyes followed her gaze.

"You love your Somersby, huh?"

"It's gonna get me through the night," she responded, before she sighed once more. "Sorry Liz, it's not that your party is boring or anything, I just wish-"

"Soul was here? We all do, hon." Liz's voice was warm, somehow maternal despite the drawl and the slur in her words. She clapped her hands on Maka's shoulder, the impact making the smaller blonde start suddenly. "But you can't mope around all day! So what if this is the second party he's missed? Winter break is coming soon - and I'm sure you can go up to him, or he to us…" And then she scrunched her nose. "Actually, tell him to come to us. Text him right now."

"I can't," Maka replied dully. "He's practicing - their combo performance is tomorrow." At Liz's blank stare, she sagged her shoulders, opting to take a sip of Somersby to fill the silence. "Nevermind," she said into the rim of her cup.

Liz gave her a surprisingly sober look, one full of concern. It didn't mix well with her flushed face and low cut top, but the woman - who'd recently became something of a sister to Maka - was managing to remain coherent throughout her pep talk despite the amounts of alcohol she'd consumed. "Tsubaki's outside tending to the bonfire. Why don't you go hang out there?"

Maka threw a sideway glance at Patti, who was eagerly pouring a round of shots. She vaguely wondered if the alcohol even belonged to the Thompsons, or if they'd plucked a random bottle and declared it part of the house. Maka sighed. "I will. Thanks, Liz."

Her friend's whispered '_you're welcome' _still rang in her ears as she pushed the glass doors aside to go out in the back.

There was something nostalgic about it all, with the bonfire and the people milling around it; quieter than it'd been inside. Not that it meant anything, though; not as if he could keep him company this time.

She found her raven-haired friend off to the side, standing guard over the pile of firewood rather possessively. Tsubaki glanced up as she approached, her lips relaxing into a smile. "Hey Maka," she said pleasantly. "Here." Maka glanced down and took the branch gratefully.

"So what's up?" the taller female asked, but Maka said nothing, only breaking her branch in half on her knee. She missed Tsubaki's somewhat apologetic smile as she turned to the fire, the heat lighting her eyes and her lips.

Suddenly feeling guilty, Maka swallowed. It wasn't her friend's fault that she received his bail text an hour before the party, it wasn't her friend's fault that he had a new life stretched in front of him. If anything, she felt a little silly, being so dependent on him. This wasn't her, this wasn't _going to be her _in the absence of Soul.

"It's a good party," Maka said instead, trying to keep the subject light. She could see Tsubaki turn, appreciation and gratitude, as always, spreading on the woman's face. Tsubaki was too humble, really, for her own good.

And Maka was lucky to have such amazing friends.

"Thanks, Liz and Patti had a blast planning this one. A bonfire is nice right about now, letting us burn away our anxieties."

Her voice was nice - soothing, Maka thought, as she let her mind wander into the dancing flames.

And then she heard him approach, if only recognizable by his distinctive _thump thump _strides across the stone walkway. Blackstar all but jumped on his girlfriend, a beer in one hand, a cup in the other.

"Here 'Baki, I got you a drink," he said rather proudly, and she could tell by the squirms of her friend that Tsubaki wasn't exactly enthused.

"Blackstar," she'd hissed indignantly, and Maka's heart swelled once again. Tsubaki truly was a gift in her life, along with the Thompsons.

The shorter boy turned to her, his eyes suddenly wide and almost apologetic.

(She'd almost scoffed, to think _Blackstar _would ever feel anything even remotely close to that sentiment.)

Maka settled on a smile instead, waving the red cup in her hand. "Don't worry about it, honestly. You guys are fine - its not like I haven't seen your pda before."

Tsubaki at least had the decency to look embarrassed, despite her boyfriend's thankfulness and rather quiet utterance that perhaps Maka was cool after all.

She sighed and pulled out her phone. To her surprise, the notification light blinked - just once, red, the colour he'd assigned himself last time he was with her. _So you always think of it as an emergency, _he'd said with a sly cheekiness.

Maka pressed the power button, scrolling to her unread text message.

_Sorry I can't be there. _

She chewed her lip.

_It's okay_.

She deflected Tsubaki's concerned question, walked past Killik and Kid in the yard, and sat down inside, folding one leg over the other. Kim eventually came around, and to her surprise, asked her with genuine concern if everything was alright. Maka didn't miss Ox hovering by the stairs, waiting for his girlfriend to return, so she gave Kim a smile and reassured her she was fine.

It wouldn't be until she got home that Soul finally texted her back.

* * *

"Are you sure you don't need help?"

"No, Kid, but thank you for driving me," Maka said sincerely, giving her friend a smile as he hovered, half-concerned. She ignored his raised eyebrows as she hauled the two bags of groceries in her palms, sandwiching the novel she had underneath an armpit with her effort.

She'd only put one foot on the stairs before she turned around, giving Kid a smile. He returned it before ducking back into the car.

Walking up two flights of stairs wasn't fun with the additional weight, and it was only after she'd dropped her bags, dug into her pockets, pulled out the key, _and _turned, that she was able to all but fall into her apartment.

Her phone lay on the table - the very thing she'd forgotten to grab before her grocery run.

The blinker was red, to her mild surprise, especially after the relative silence for the past two weeks.

She'd missed a call from him.

Maka sighed and put the phone down.

She'd call back later.

* * *

"_It wasn't a bad recital at all,"_ Soul said, his voice, though worn, seemed excited. If anything, it housed a strange youthfulness that Maka never had heard before. "_I mean it's hard with exams coming, Anya complaining about spring allergies - she's so spoiled, but her talent makes up for it-"_

It was kind of cute, hearing him chattering on, the high of the performance evident in his tone.

Maka couldn't fight the smile on her face as she rolled over, her hand catching the book she'd only been half-reading before she'd lost her page.

"_I mean, I lost my spot - only once. But it happens to the best of us. Anya was fine though - can't say the same about Clay." _

"Was he mad?"

"_Well, he's been angrier when I haven't practiced, but I practiced like hell for this performance so it's a good thing for all of us he didn't give me lip." _

Maka giggled, before sombering. "Sorry I couldn't make it."

He'd sprung it on her last minute, anyway - and she wasn't sure where she could scrounge the cash. If she'd said anything, she was more afraid Soul would buy her a ticket for her. And she couldn't have that.

The silence on his end was hesitant, if not awkward. And then she heard the familiar rush of air, the squish of covers, and the squeal of bedsprings. "_It's not your fault, Maka. I know you would've made it out if you could." _

"Doesn't mean I don't want to support you."

He hummed in thought. And then there was another rush of movement, and his voice was slightly clearer. _"So what are you doing?" _

"Reading."

"_Anything __**new**__?" _

Maka paused, her fingers rubbing against the corner of her page. Well, what was worth talking about? "My life isn't as exciting as yours," she said, and then she froze. "Wait, that came out wrong -"

"_It's okay_," he said quickly. Soul shifted around a bit more, before his voice grew quiet _"Isn't it, what, nine PM for you?" _

"And it's _twelve _for you, so I don't see how your argument is valid."

He chuckled appreciatively into the receiver, and for a moment, her heart fluttered. She'd almost forgotten what it was like - for her heart to beat like this, so painfully.

"_I miss you." _

"I miss you, too."

"_I can't believe I've been in New York for a year already."_

"I've seen you a couple times," Maka said quickly. She closed the book after bookmarking it, tossing it onto her bedside table as she flopped back onto her pillows. "It's not as bad as it could be. You could be in Europe or something."

He sighed into the phone. "_I know. I just miss… well, this. We've both been busy, huh?" _

Maka stared at the ceiling, words coming unbidden but none she wanted to _say_. Missed calls, texts back that come sometimes a day later - all of it she was afraid to call normal. It was definitely attributed by _business_, duties they each had to their studies.

"It happens," she settled on instead, and in her mind she finished her sentence. In her mind, she said that it shouldn't happen _often_, but the truth of the matter was that it _did_. He had to practice for almost six hours a day, and whatever time she could spare, she was either reading or writing.

But it was the nights like these that she cherished the most, when she could just listen to his voice as she closed her eyes.

"_What do you want to talk about?_"

"Anything," she husked, her voice low and _tired_ now that she was in bed. She tucked her legs in and wrapped her body in her blankets, her eyelids dropping as she balanced the phone on her pillow.

Soul hummed once more, his voice rich and low. As much as he'd deny it, it was no question that he'd become more musical. It made sense, seeing as that was all he did in school anyways. She couldn't count the number of times she'd heard his fingers drumming against _something_, a tune escaping his lips even if he denied it .

"_I could talk you through the program we played?_"

"Sure," Maka decided on. And it wasn't that she was disinterested, she was just _tired_, and truth be told, her own words were the last she heard before she'd drifted to sleep, the soft thrums of his voice a lullaby to her ears.

* * *

It was just a text, this time.

_You busy_?

Maka glanced at the clock, then at her textbooks. A cup of coffee was growing cold beside her, the sheets of highlighted paper scattered around her desk.

She sighed.

_Sorry_, she sent back.

His message popped up barely a minute later.

_Good luck._

Maka yawned and rubbed her eyes, flipping open her novel to double check the passage she'd highlighted.

She needed all the luck she could get.

* * *

"I don't see why you don't come here, instead."

He sighed loudly into the receiver; she ignored him and his indignant huffs. It didn't make sense - why should she have to go all the way to New York for their summer break? "Everyone's here and were thrilled to bits; why can't you do the same this time? Be practical about it."

"_Because I've been back, and you haven't been here_," he explained, his voice bordering on annoyance. It was a mere subtle shift in his tone that would've gone unnoticed, but Maka knew him better than anyone.

She sighed. "Look Soul, it's a money thing-"

"_I'll pay -"_

"- And I can never accept that," she responded almost out of reflex. And then she sighed once more. "Just come back to Death City, okay? Think about how stoked everyone will be to see you - I know Blackstar will be."

He was silent a few moments after, the absence of sound disturbing on its own. Finally, he responded in a heavy voice.

"_Fine."_

* * *

"That was nice of him," Liz said, almost scrutinizingly. Maka couldn't help but smile, her hand playing with the silver necklace around her neck.

"It was an apology for coming late - he missed the quickest flight out of New York."

"He shouldn't _have _to have a reason to buy you nice things," Liz said with vehemence, the taller blonde's eyebrow twitching as she cracked her fists. "Next time I see him, I'm gonna pound him-"

Maka couldn't help but laugh, putting calming hands on her friend's own. When _was _the next time he'd come? He'd only been able to come out for a few days in the summer, and it was barely enough time to make up for the months they'd lost due to school.

And he'd left not three days ago, but her hands already craved him again.

Maka sighed.

"He might be back around July."

"It's _May_."

"It's better than three - or four - months," Maka said, though her words didn't seem as optimistic as they were in her head.

Liz frowned.

She didn't want to see the concern in her friend's eyes, didn't want to predict the words that she had on her face before they came out of her mouth.

"He should be putting in more effort."

"He's _busy_."

"Busy means nothing in a relationship!"

Maka glared up at the blonde, the words tumbling out of her mouth faster than she anticipated. "Liz, I don't want to talk about it." Liz blinked, surprised, before quickly apologizing.

Maka immediately felt bad. She hadn't meant to snap, really, but she didn't need Liz voicing the fears she already felt in her heart.

This was _Soul_. Soul - who'd always loved her so passionately, but who was also married to his music, to the piano.

And she couldn't pull him away from it, no matter how hard she tried.

* * *

"I want to hear you play."

Soul hesitated, fingers perched over ivory keys, the webcam unfocused.

"_Maka, I can't just practice with you watching."_

"Pretend I'm not here, you can be background noise as I read." His snort of contempt came out fuzzy, a rush of static. Maka frowned. "What, I was serious!"

"_As am I. Trust me Maka, what I'm learning is by no means background music."_

How was that even possible? Music was _music _\- one either actively listened to it, or they didn't. But judging by the harshness of his tone, the way his eyes bore into hers, he meant every word; she sighed and shook out her shoulders.

He was probably right, as he always was - with these music related things.

She didn't want to say anything - didn't want to voice that she'd sensed he was changing. From their texts, from their calls, from their sparse Skype meetings - he wasn't the same Soul who'd resented the piano when he'd left.

He was liking it.

And she was happy for him, though a selfish part wanted him to remain _her _Soul - the Soul she'd fallen in love with.

But like the changing of the tides, she'd soon be able to understand, to love, this new one.

She sighed.

"I'll call you later, okay?"

"_For sure, when I'm done practicing,_" he reaffirmed. And when he turned around to see her off, she couldn't help but stare into his eyes, to marvel at his jaw, his cheeks, _him_, before she hung up.

The thirty minute time stamp shone on the computer screen.

Numbers she'd soon resent.

* * *

Her third call, like all the others, went straight to voicemail.

* * *

"You seem stressed," Tsubaki said as she handed Maka her coffee.

The blonde fixed her eyes onto the cup for only a second longer, before reaching over the table to pour herself cream and sugar. She knew her friend was keeping an eye on her, concern bright in her ebony gaze, but she ignored it.

Instead, Maka gave herself time to take a nice drink of coffee before answering. "It's school related."

"But it's also about Soul, isn't it?"

One of the things Maka could always appreciate in her Japanese best friend was her approach to things; though Tsubaki was obviously quite certain of the cause, at least she still had the courtesy to phrase it more as a question - to give Maka the opportunity to deny it or not.

But there was no use in denying what was real.

Maka nodded into her cup.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Tsubaki's voice was meek, and truthfully Maka wasn't sure what there was to _say_. Thoughts ran through her mind but she couldn't isolate a _valid _one, one that would justify all these _shitty _feelings that had been stewing in for a while.

Tsubaki put a hand on Maka's forearm. "You're allowed to feel these things, Maka, a relationship is a give-and-take."

Maka sighed.

Over the past year and a half, she'd been silently and secretly fascinated by Blackstar and Tsubaki. She could hardly remember a time where the couple didn't make absolute sense - where she somehow thought Blackstar's rambunctious personality would never mesh well with Tsubaki's. But she'd seen it overtime, seen how Blackstar would literally stop in his tracks for her; how he put her first.

The thing was, that was _Blackstar and Tsubaki - _a couple who'd had a mutual understanding for the last however-many-years they'd been together. That wasn't _her_, that wasn't her relationship with Soul.

So when she voiced those concerns, Tsubaki only shook her head. "It doesn't matter, Maka - just because you've attributed that kind of communication with Blackstar and I doesn't mean it's universal; every relationship is different."

Maka bristled - of course that's what it was. It didn't apply to her - it didn't apply to Soul, because he had a passion that was bigger than she'd realized - and isn't that _her _fault for not recognizing it sooner?

In the end, Maka was glad she was talking to Tsubaki and not _Liz_, for she only nodded sagely with each of her complaints.

"You owe it to yourself to get answers, Maka," she advised, the hand on her forearm tightening. "And it's good to get this out of your system - you shouldn't let it stew."

"It's been _stewing_ for months now," Maka said quietly into the lip of her cup. Tsubaki only shot her another sympathetic look.

"All the better to talk about it now. And you should bring it up to Soul - trust me Maka, _we_ know him, and if you don't say anything he may never get it."

But that was the point, she didn't _want _to have to bring it up. Maka didn't want to be _that _person, she didn't want to be the one to hold him back. She didn't want to be the factor that stopped him from being the musician he was intended to be, to make him retract that passion he'd only just recently discovered dwelling within himself.

When Maka voiced thesethoughts this time, Tsubaki only frowned.

"Aren't you actually more afraid of getting an answer?"

Maka blinked.

And then the worries - the anxietyof it all, came rushing back to her. The thought that he valued his school over her, that he chose his instrument over her. That she was nothing but something on his arm, not important enough to be a part of his life.

And they were all _so stupid_, concerns that shouldn't have bothered her like they did. She didn't want to get attached for this very reason, because she'd think these shitty thoughts and have these feelings.

It was like he was pushing her away, all over again, except this time not directly to her face.

It was that subtle difference that was making the whole ordeal ten times worse.

Tsubaki watched her from across the table, her hands wrapped firmly around her own coffee cup. "You know, I don't envy you - long distance is hard. You're doing well."

"Not well enough," Maka said, chewing her lips.

Because she felt like the clingy one - something she never thought she'd be.

"Relationships change people," Tsubaki said patiently.

Maka forced herself to relax her grip.

Apparently, distance did as well.

* * *

"_I'm really sorry, I-_"

"It's okay," Maka said patiently, though inwardly, she was still unhappy. This wasn't the first time he'd apologized, but he didn't need to. He was busy - he always was nowadays - and she _got _it.

It didn't help, though, that with every heartfelt apology, she felt the tug of loneliness and inadequacy fuel her. Maka hated it. Truly despised herself for feeling this way - for being so uncertain and unsure of what she was even allowedto feel. To say it was crushing disappointment was an overstatement, but it didn't mean she felt less.

It still hurt to only see Soul over the video screen; and she knew he only used Skype over their traditional phone calls because of the occasion.

Maka instead focused on something else - like the the flowers on her table she'd already thanked him for. She wished she could do more than send him chocolates; the last Valentine's Day had been slightly moreromantic. Anything over a skype video call generally tended to be that way.

She tried not to linger on the thought.

"_You're mad." _

"No, I'm just... thinking." She glanced at the time on her phone and grimaced. "So what else did you do?"

"_The same, really - Anya's __**still **__mad about Clay trying to switch, but I get it - hopefully we both get someone good. Juries are around the corner, so we've tried doubling our practice schedule." _

Maka stared.

Soul already practiced six hours a day, minimum, and that was discounting the hour he worked intensively with his chamber group. Maka simply couldn't fathom more - couldn't quite see Soul sitting at a piano, for hours on end, doing nothing but _practicing_. It wasn't him.

And there it was again, that pang of inadequacy.

But today was supposed to be happy; she'd already said that much out loud the first time he tried to apologize for not seeing her.

"_Can we not talk about this right now," _she'd said, _"today's supposed to be happy." _

Judging by the way he didn't seem to recognize her words, Maka couldn't help but feel a little silly for recalling his classic excuse - one he'd used almost two years ago.

Maybe he truly _had _changed.

Soul offered her a half-smile. _"I'm not practicing now, so let's talk._"

"About what?"

"_Anything_," he said unhelpfully. Then his eyes narrowed. "_How's your week been?" _

Maka sighed.

"Uneventful, the same - you know. Reading."

"_Reading what?_" His voice was interested, but Maka doubted his heart was in it.

The same way she'd been when he talked about music.

There was only so much pretending they could do; only so much initial interest they could show until they hit that wall. The wall of language barriers, or something similar to - she swore when she'd accidentally called him during a rehearsal, or when Anya popped into the frame to ask a question, they'd all but started spouting new words.

And she knew he felt the same way when she had to discuss literary things with Kid when Soul was around. The rare times he actually was around anymore.

So Maka droned on, mechanically recounting what she'd done. His eyes were wide, and she didn't think for a moment that he wasn't interested - it just wasn't sinking in.

She'd talked herself hollow before she realized it, then politely excused herself to pour a glass of water.

Maybe it was because she'd been recounting dumb literature, but the easy flow of water somehow made her feel bittersweet, as if something that was once as easy as falling stream of water had become thrice as hard.

As if being with him just wasn't right anymore.

Once she'd returned to her seat, they were back in _Happy Valentine's Day _land.

And they talked, had the longest conversation they'd had all semester, and at the end - when they signed off with their _I love you's - _she felt as if those words held more weight than ever before.

* * *

"- And then also Yale, although that one's gonna be tough - oh, and Columbia."

His intake of breath was sharp, a hiss of surprise even. Maka paused - what was _that _supposed to be? She chewed her lip, waiting for an explanation. She was met with none, and the longer she hesitated, the more obvious she wasn't going to get one.

"Soul?"

He was _still _quiet for a moment or two longer, before he finally spoke. "Columbia? I didn't know NYC was on your radar."

_Oh_.

"Columbia has a good lit program," Maka reasoned, chewing on each word like molasses as they stick to her throat.

In the silence that followed, she could almost picture his eyes narrowing, his arms folding - her premonitions preempting his disapproval.

"You're not going there because of me, right? You're thinking for yourself, right?"

Her heart rate picked up, but not in the way she wanted to. For a moment, she wanted to yell, to scream that it wasn't about him, that it was about her, and it was a decision she would've arrived to even if her boyfriend _wasn't _in NYC. That it was all a decision she'd thought about before.

_You're thinking for yourself, right? _

_I have been, _she thought, but his eyes gazed back in concern, even guilt.

"Don't worry," Maka said, her voice carefully even. "I'm doing this for myself."

That much wasn't a lie.

* * *

Soul didn't call her.

Truthfully, that shouldn't be something Maka even _cared _about.

Still, she couldn't help but recall the last two exams. The times she'd sat at the same desk, textbooks flayed open, pages upon pages of highlighted annotations, cue cards scattered around in makeshift piles - a trusty coffee mug by her side.

The only difference this exam period was the lack of anythingfrom him.

Maka sighed, putting her phone off to the side.

There'd been a time when she'd preferred the silence. After all, Maka studied the best with no distractions. No music, no contact, no boyfriend calling or texting or _anything_. But now, the silence was not quite a distraction, but an annoyance. Phantom itches bit at her fingers, and she barely managed to catch herself before she checked her phone for the umpteenth time.

Maka groaned and placed her head on her kitchen table.

The wood was cool, despite the sheer amount of crapspread across it. It was kind of nice, to just close her eyes for a moment and try to clear her head of all the confusing terms and analyses she'd been memorizing up until this point.

She checked the time.

Usually Soul was up until now, _especially _during exam season. She'd made it clear before that she wanted the contact to be limited - at least temporarily, until her main exams were done. But he'd been unusually silent, even in the days - _weeks_\- leading up to now.

Her phone buzzed.

Maka nearly dove across the table to check it.

It was Kid, asking if he could confirm some concepts with her.

She sighed and keyed a reply as fast as her thumbs could.

Maka glanced at the time, then to her empty coffee mug.

Her mind set, she brought the mug back to her sink, pulling open the fridge for something to drink.

Her eyes settled on the lone Somersby.

Why, _why_ was everything that she loved associated with _him?_ Why was she so helpless, so unable to shake him? She never thought she'd be this way, never thought she'd be so selfish as to want him as much as she did. She hated herself. She hated herself because she never expected to be this kind of lover, the kind to be hung up over _no calls _even when she was the one who said she wanted it that way.

Tsubaki had told her that was normal, and Maka knew - knew that absence made the heart grow fonder.

But it made her feel useless, a mere joke of a person. Maka never thought of herself as dependent. But the lack of communication, the lack of time_, _the lack of proper touch - the inability to be the type of person they _need _right now, it all had been slowly becoming clear to her.

Maka cracked open the can of Somersby.

It was petty, stupid, even a little obsessive, but just the _taste_ was enough to make her feel as if he was there, beside her like they once were, his hands in her hair as she slowly fell asleep.

* * *

"_I'm so-" _

"Please, don't apologize _again_," Maka said, but her voice was no longer patient. It no longer had the capability of being _patient_. "I didn't call you to scold you, Soul."

He paused, his eyes bright with hesitation.

She'd told herself she'd tell him a month ago. That this was it - that she had to let go.

But every time she locked eyes with him, her heart swelled, swelled with the love that lingered there since she was a child, swelled with the love that had developed for him with everything they'd gone through.

The words stung in her throat- they did every time she attempted to rehearse them- but today, she refused to let them.

Maka inhaled and felt herself steel. The cold truth overtook her betraying emotions.

"Soul, I love you."

"_And I love you,_" he responded almost instantly, and she couldn't fight the urge to smile- because it was _sincere_ and true and _God _she wished that could solve all the problems. But it couldn't.

That single smile was all she allowed herself - a brief quirk in her lips so fleeting it barely changed her expression.

"We have to do what's best for us."

The look on his face told her that he knew what was coming, but the scowl that appeared made it known that he _wasn't _okay with it.

"_Maka, don't say what I think you're going to say." _

She hated his words, hated them because she didn't want to - at _all_ \- but she hated the person she'd become, someone who got worried and hung up over silence, who'd grown so dependent that it was interfering with her life. Interfering with how she interacted with others. Interfering with how she had _fun. _She couldn't live like that.

"I can't be there for you, Soul, and you need someone who can."

"_I don't care, Maka!"_ he shot back, his eyes wild with panic, his voice hitching. "_Forget the times I've been upset you couldn't come, forget all that - it doesn't matter, it doesn't change us-" _

"_Yes, _it does, Soul," she interrupted, trying to maintain her calm, but it was all cracking before her eyes. She inhaled again. "I can't be there, I can't help you - but what's worse is that you can't help _me_. And I can't take that."

"_Maka, we're both done with our undergrad degrees, this changes everything._"

She wanted to believe him, but she knew it simply wasn't true. "Soul, you've already gotten into your grad program. You needsomeone there more than ever, someone who can come to your concerts, someone who can supportyou. You need your time to practice_, _and I can't take that from you! And me, I need someone who can be here - who can come when I call, who can be by my side when I need it. I needthat, Soul, and you can't dothat."

His closed his mouth, falling silent.

It helped, just a little - it made this all easier, if he didn't respond, if she didn't look at his face.

"This is destructive, Soul, and you know it."

They sat in silence, and there was so much she felt weighing on her mind. Like how Tsubaki said that this was _normal_, but how this was her choice. Like how Liz told her she supported her in any decision she made. Like how Kid said she knew _herself _best, and this relationship was a learning process.

She hadn't known how to take it, but now - in the eerie silence, she did.

And then, on his end, she could hear the sound of a doorbell. His head shot up, red eyes wide with alarm, and Maka could faintly hear the sound of Anya's voice.

"Go get that," she said slowly.

He turned to her, panic in his eyes. And then, very deliberately, he got up, his hands still on his laptop. "_Maka, listen to me. Just - hold out a bit longer, okay? Maka, please-" _

"Okay," she responded, and the screen went blank.

Maka closed her laptop with more force than she'd expected.

She didn't know what she was feeling - anger, pain, frustration, regret - and neither did she know who it was directed at. Instead, a swell of emotion threatened to drown her, to wash over her, filling her lungs as she tried desperately to remain afloat. The wave of feeling filled her mouth with bile and tears, before finally dragging her under.

Shakily, she began to cry.


	8. epilogue

There was a package waiting for her on her doorstep.

Bending over, she gingerly plucked it off the tiled floor. The package was thin - barely a letter, and not in the typical white, strictly-business envelope that usually held her bills.

Had she looked at the sender, she might've thrown it straight into the bin.

Instead, she brought the letter inside, setting it on her table and beside the small stack of acceptance letters she'd been accumulating.

As it was mid-July, her phone had been relatively quiet - those who needed her had come to her apartment, as opposed to calling. She preferred it that way, to be honest; no need to look twice, no need to be disappointed when it wasn't _him_.

She pried the letter open.

Her eyes darted on the paper, on the lackluster note that was so characteristically him. It took her one additional readthrough, then another, just for the words to sink in.

And she didn't know why, but she felt a single tear slip down her cheek.

* * *

"Are you comfortable ma'am? Any water, a pillow or blanket, perhaps?"

She turned to the flight attendant, a smile she hadn't been able to shake since arriving at the airport still on her lips.

"I'm fine, thank you."

"What's the occasion, family visit? Leisure?"

She paused, contemplating. It was hard to label - but after having thought about it, perhaps she_could _classify the occasion. "School. And well, my significant other," she added as an afterthought.

The woman only gave a small smile and an even smaller nod, before ducking back out of the aisle seat with an '_enjoy your flight'_.

She, instead, turned to face the window.

It was an overnight flight, of course - she didn't know what else she'd expected, looking out the glass and only met with darkness. In a way, it was kind of nice; relaxing. Her fingers brushed the necklace that dangled along her collarbone, a necklace she'd spent many a night staring at in thought.

The letter she held in her other hand, wrinkled from the amount of times she'd read it, parts of it discoloured from the tears she couldn't hold back.

Once, she never would've considered herself a crier.

But she'd cried a lot, more than she'd come to realize. When she first moved, against her own volition, when she watched the rain pour down as she drove out of Death City, she'd cried, tears of sadness and regret. When she'd been teased, it had been angry tears. And then, when she'd been overwhelmed, when she'd woken from dreams she couldn't control, when he kissed her - for the first time - under the clock they never met at, they were tears of emotion she could never find a label for. Crying - she didn't know why she did it.

But if there was one thing she knew, it was this; that it was _always_ Soul.

It had always _been _Soul.

There was no one in her life she'd ever loved nearly as much. It scared her - it _changed _her-and she wasn't sure if she liked the change. But she'd accepted it - accepted that this relationship had made her aware of who she was. That her barriers were never that strong, that she was more fragile than she'd realized.

It only made her stronger.

Maka clutched the letter to her heart and closed her eyes.

* * *

_Maka,_

_I know you don't want to hear from me, that you think we can't do this, but just humor me and read this please._

_I love you. I love you so much. And I need to see you - I need to see you here. I've been so awful, and I'm not going to say I'm going to do better, because that phrase sucks and it means nothing. But I need to show you, I need you here so I can show you._

_Just give me a chance to talk, let me show you everything there is in New York, you've only been that one time. So come here, let me talk to you, then you can make your decision._

_Okay?_

* * *

_**A/N: **Thank you for reading my Resbang to its conclusion. This was such a journey in self discovery, a complete adventure in writing slice of life - in utilizing foreshadowing, parallelism, and all those literary devices no one ever really thought was useful in highschool. Extended Author Notes can be found via my tumblr, where I shared some of my creative processes and perhaps answered some questions you may have in explaining intentions and choices I've made in this piece to shape it into what it is. _

_Acknowledgements: _

_Sandmancircus, Lucyrne, Professor-Maka, Raining-down-hearts, Khaleesimaka_: _the bae-ta squad! (I'm so sorry for that.) Thank you all for your amazing job on keeping this fic somewhat coherent - 45~k is a long time to dedicate cleaning. Big hugs and special thanks to Dandy for doing so much work, you're the light of this fic's life, you gem, you. _

_Sophie,_ _Rebecca_: _Working with both of you has been so rewarding and really fulfilling. Thank you for your dedication and your patience; together I believe we've created something really beautiful. _

_The mods (Fab, Marsh, Mae, Livi, and_ _Phyrri):__ Thank you guys for creating and modding this huge spectacle of an event. You guys did an impeccable job despite the drop outs and the potent headaches from your check ins. You guys have been helpful and very amazing with the whole process, so step back and enjoy all the works you've facilitated!_

_Thank you once again for reading it through. Again, look forward to the one-shot omake coming around January. Here's a hint, it's from Soul's point of view. _

_Much love, and see you next time, _

_Jak_


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